


The Hero of Capo City

by zeeyaa



Series: Be Still [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Contains mild and strong language, Gen, I love some angst but it ain't always angst yknow, I talk about the AU and important things in the summary, More egos to come, Ngl it's mostly a JackieBoy Man story, Other YouTubers and egos will appear throughout the story, This may seem like a story only about JSE Egos but really it's a mashup, Will sometimes contain graphic depictions of violence, ego content, where most of the plot has to do with him and a big side cast of characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 52
Words: 111,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeeyaa/pseuds/zeeyaa
Summary: Every superhero has an origin story...This is Sean McLoughlin's. After a run in with a mysterious green eyeball, he's surprised when he discovers he has superpowers. Using his powers for good, he runs around Capo City as the only city's hero, Jack! While superpowers give him an advantage, he's got one thing coming for him: a veryglitchydemon with no clear motives.[AU where...]- JackieBoy Man is basically Sean- Many alter-egos of YouTube creators exist in this universe (sometimes they're minor appearances)- Sean/Jack is not a YouTuberLet me know if anything is confusing. I'll try to explain it to the best of my ability!Tumblr: https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com





	1. Eye Spy an Origin Story

Sean huffed as he stepped onto a train, his ride home. His latest job interview hadn’t gone as planned, and he was once again turned down for the position. It wasn’t that he was under qualified or anything, the woman had told him. They just found someone else who was _way_ better than him at the last minute.

 _Nothing surprising,_ Sean thought. Everyone seemed to be so much more ahead in the game of life, while he was sitting on the sidelines, waiting to be put in. All that time in high school and college and he was still the same kid he was in primary school...the loser.

He took a seat near the back of the train and rested his bag on his lap. He checked his phone and saw that it was almost seven o’clock...not that he had anywhere to be, anyway. He barely hung out with his friends...well, friend. Chase Brody was his best friend, but he was currently away on vacation with his wife and kids, and all of his other friends lived far away.

Sean pulled out his phone and opened up his Instagram. The first thing that popped up was a post of Chase with his wife in aloha shirts. They appeared to be on a beach. The light on their faces was orange, suggesting it was at sunset. Sean looked at the caption: _Tahiti is such a cool place! Vlog coming soon!!_

“Damn, Tahiti,” he muttered. “Can’t wait for the vlog.”

Sean kept scrolling on Instagram. More of the same posts—people enjoying their life, partying the night, touring the country.

He was so lost in his thoughts that when the back of the train shook violently and rattled, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He held onto his phone a little tighter as he looked up and around.

There was nobody behind him. He was at the very back (how he preferred it), where there was only one seat behind him. It was also a pretty empty train, so there was nobody near him, anyway. What could have caused the ruckus?

Curious, Sean got up from his seat to inspect it more closely. As he shuffled his feet to the seat behind him, he began to notice a faint but green light emanating from below the seat. The glow was coming from a duffel bag.

Immediately, Sean backed away from the bag, mind already telling him it was a bomb. He tripped over his own foot and landed hard on the floor, and the duffel bag tipped over and spilled out its contents.

Against Sean’s assumption, the thing inside was not a bomb. Instead, it was something completely different.

“That’s...oh, gosh, that’s an eyeball!”

The eyeball was no bigger than a softball. It was spherical and a vibrant shade of green, kind of similar to Sean’s emerald green hair, and the iris of the eye was blue, resembling Sean’s irises.

Then the creepiest thing happened. The eyeball moved to stare up at him.

Sean’s scream was stuck in his throat. He was terrified of this thing—it was definitely an alien, there was no doubt. However, it didn’t seem like it wanted to kill him. Sean and the eye stared at each other for a few moments, but nothing happened.

The eye looked up at him and Sean could almost feel the curiosity coming from it. There was something else, too...

It looked...helpless.

Unsure of what to do, Sean scratched his head, wondering if he should just leave the weird eyeball thing where it was and continue on as if nothing had happened. He didn’t want to have to report it to the person in charge of the train because he knew there was no explaining this. It was blowing his mind, truly.

“This is gonna be such a stupid idea, but…” Sean hesitantly reached out a hand to grab the eye, making a sour face. “C’mere…”

Sean’s hand was an inch from the eye when a weird tentacle swooped from behind the eye and latched onto Sean’s hand, quickly wrapping itself around his forearm. He shrieked and instantly jerked his hand back, trying to put distance between them, but the thing was strong and wouldn’t shake off him. Panicked, he grabbed the green tentacle with his other arm and attempted to pull it off. It didn’t work. It felt like someone was pressing a cold towel to his arm, numbing it.

“Get off!” he growled, now trying to rip the thing away. Damn it, why wasn’t it budging?

At once, the cold was replaced with heat, lots of it, and Sean’s arm was burning faster than ever. The weirdest thing were the burn marks; they weren’t normal in any shape or color. Burn marks were usually red or dark brown, but his were a bright green as if someone injected him with glow stick liquid, and it was spreading out like branches on a tree. Nope, this was way too fucking far from normal.

Finally, after a good, long minute of desperate prying, the eye detached itself from Sean’s arm and dropped onto the seat, still managing to look as innocent as possible despite having almost killed him a few seconds ago. Sean shook with fear, his knees locked in place. The pain in his arms were fading unusually fast, as well as the green marks underneath his skin. 

Oh, Christ. Underneath his _skin_. Sean let out a breath he didn’t think he was holding.

Along with that, something felt wrong. His breathing didn’t seem right, and neither did his eyes, which twitched unexpectedly. His body felt like helium and lead at the same time, like he wasn’t even in his own body. Every movement and sway was delayed; he was basically running through water. If the stress wasn’t going to kill him, it was going to be that—whatever the fuck it was. Poison? Radioactive liquid?

He moved to grab the eye again, wondering how far he could launch the motherfucker, when he realized he’d end up in the same predicament as last time.

Sean glared at the eyeball. “What did you do to me?” he demanded.

The eye, not to his surprise, said nothing. It just stared at him expectantly. Sean picked up on the look and snapped, “ _What_ , are you waiting to see when I blow up?”

This time, the eye shook its body from left to right. It looked like it was trying to say no, or at least shake its “head”.

“Then why the hell did you just—I just—agh!” Sean stopped mid sentence because the eye had suddenly leapt into the air and floated to his eye level. It nodded (with its eye) and bobbed out of the open window next to itself. Sean’s eyes widened in terror. “No!”

He stepped forward and stumbled into the front of the seat, not used to this newfound sluggishness. It was coming to pass, though, and with every second, he could feel himself coming back to Earth. Is this what it felt like to be on drugs? Wait...was this him on drugs?

Sean didn’t waste time thinking about the possibility that he was on an acid trip. As soon as he was sure he could move effectively just as any human being could, he grabbed his bag, glanced out the window, spotted the eye floating towards the front of the train, and followed suit. Fortunately for him, the train was coming to a halt. Passengers were already getting up from their seats and heading for the exit. Sean tried his best to make his way through them and eventually stepped off the train, breathing heavily.

He looked around for the green eye. For a few seconds, there was no sign of it. The station was crowded with people coming in and out. The amount of chatter was disorienting his focus. Just as he turned to his left, he saw a flash of green in the crowd. It could have been a person’s hat or clothes, but Sean knew better—he recognized the distinct color of the strange eye.

Without hesitation, he headed in that direction.


	2. Chapter Eye Eye, Little Buddy!

After five minutes of cat and mouse, Sean managed to track the eye all the way towards his apartment.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if the eye had sucked information from his brain and was now using it to uncover more about him. It didn't sound right when he thought about it, but how else would he have ended up back at his place? Nothing, Sean understood, was ever a coincidence with him.

The green eyeball slipped by, unnoticed by anyone around it, and made its way up the side of his apartment building, leaving Sean in the dust.

"Ugh, let me guess, you're gonna break into my room," he muttered.

Much to his surprise, the eyeball didn't stop at the fifth floor, where Sean's room was located. Instead, it zipped to the roof of the building and disappeared from his line of sight.

Fuck!

Sean was already taking out his key as he raced inside. He nodded dismissively to the woman behind the counter, Signe, before he jammed his knuckle into the elevator button. Much to his surprise, it took two seconds for the door to open. He hit the button that would take him to the roof of the apartment.

Sean tapped his foot anxiously as he felt the elevator take him up. What if the eyeball wasn't there when he arrived? What if it had already zipped away?

He shook his head. No, he wasn't going to think like that. It wasn't getting him anywhere. He would just have to see for himself.

Once the doors opened, a gust of wind brushed into the small space with more force than Sean predicted. Strands of his hair flew into his eyes and temporarily blinded him. He brushed his hair to the side and stepped out.

The eyeball was there, laying in the ground, slightly buried in gravel. The green tentacle that rested behind the eye was wrapped around its body—eyeball body?—like a blanket, sheltering it from the wind.

Sean took a step forward and heard the rocks beneath his feet crunch. The eyeball swiveled around to look at him curiously. It bounced in midair, almost excited to see it was him.

All the anger Sean felt for the creature washed away in an instant. How could something so small be so dangerous? It was cute! And the weird incident on the train barely hurt him, but it did seem peculiar.

"Hey, little buddy," Sean said softly, taking a small step closer. The last thing he wanted to do was spook it. "I'm sorry about earlier. I just want to talk, all right?"

The eyeball nodded.

_Wow, this is super weird._

"I don't want to hurt you," Sean continued. He crouched down. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Can you speak?"

A pause from the eyeball. Then it closed its eye, the same way one would expect a regular eye would, except its entire blue iris disappeared into a folded line, and shook its head.

"It's okay," Sean said. The eyeball floated towards him. "Did you mean to cause me harm earlier?"

Another shake of the eye without hesitation. Sean breathed a sigh of relief. "Awesome. I know you didn't mean to." He stopped talking for a second and paused, lost in thought. The eyeball couldn't talk...not that he suspected it could. Where would its mouth be, anyway? Sean also didn't know what else to talk to the mysterious eyeball about. What was he supposed to ask?

"So..." Sean rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion from running around the city take over. "What did you do to me?"

 _Okay, I'm stupid for asking that. Of course it can't tell me._ He slapped his palm to his face. The best the eye could do was nod and shake its head!

The eyeball brightened up and performed a variety of weird movements. It flew above Sean's head and circled around a few times, then returned to its original position and flexed its tentacle. 

"That...didn't help at all." Sean couldn't hold back his yawn. He covered his mouth while yawning, but he could see the idea look at him curiously and mimic his yawn, using the tentacle to cover most of its face. That alone was enough to make Sean chuckle. "Heh, guess yawning really is contagious. Are you tired, little buddy?"

The eyeball nodded. "Me too," Sean said, standing up, "but you can't stay out here by yourself." He hesitated for a moment, thinking to himself, then shook his head. He extended his arm out to the eyeball. "Here, would you like to stay at my place for the night?"

The eye looked at the Irishman in confusion. There was pregnant pause before it gently floated into Sean's hand and rested comfortably in his palm. Unlike the train encounter, nothing happened this time. There was no violent tentacle wrapping around his arm, no green veins spreading throughout his arm.

Humming to the eyeball, he walked back into the elevator and traveled down a level to his apartment room. Sean didn't know where he would put the eye to rest, so he awkwardly made a makeshift bed out of tissues on the table next to his bed. The eye settled into its bed and looked at him, waiting.

"I suppose this makes us roommates," Sean joked. The eye didn't seem to think of it that way, but it gave a vigorous nod, seeming to like the idea. "I also just realized...you don't have a name. Um, do you have a name?"

No response. The eye stared at him. Waiting.

"Ah..." Sean racked his brain for a good name. "How about...how about...uh..." His eyes lit up. Faintly, he smiled. "How about Sam?"

 _Sam?_ the eye seemed to say. It didn't nod or shake its head this time. Instead, it closed its eyes and didn't open them again. It already fell asleep.

 _Sam already fell asleep_ , Sean corrected mentally.

He closed his eyes and pulled his blankets up to his chest. "Goodnight, little Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Thanks for reading my story so far.
> 
> Did you like my joke in the chapter title? Hope you got the joke! Well, I hope you did.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter. I'm sure by then I'll know where to take this story, lol. Oh, and I don't know what JackieBoy Man's powers will be, so that's a thing. Let me know if you've got ideas.


	3. Excessive Justice

The first thing Sean saw when he opened his eyes was Sam staring at him.

Immediately, the man widened his eyes and rolled back in his head, surprised. It took him a few moments to remember last night's events, but when it clicked, he rubbed his eyes, chuckling to himself.

"Heh, sorry about that, Sam," he mumbled, sitting up. Sam floated beside him and nuzzled his cheek. It felt weird again Sean's skin, almost like having an ice pack pressed against his skin, but he knew he would warm up to it eventually. He briefly wondered if this counted as having pets in the apartment when he shrugged the thought away and got out of bed.

"All right, Sam, we're gonna be productive members of society today," Sean announced, stretching. He opened a drawer and started to pick out his clothes. Sam eagerly watched him from atop the dresser. "I've got to find a job within the next week or else I can't afford to stay here." He lifted his shirt collar and sniffed it. "I can use this again." He glanced at Sam. "Of course I'm gonna let you tag along. I just...have to find something I can put you in without anyone noticing." Sean pulled a red hoodie out of the bottom of his drawer. He couldn't believe he bought such a big hoodie, but it was so cheap at the time and he was desperate. He held it up to Sam. "What d'you think of this?"

Sam peered at it questioningly.

"Ah," said Sean. "Look, I'll pull it on—" he threw the hoodie over his head, "—and you can fit in the back of the hoodie! Er, hood of the hoodie."

Sam's pupil dilated as they zipped into the hood. Sean had read somewhere that people's pupils dilated whenever they saw something they liked—maybe that was the case with Sam, too?

Either way, he was glad his little buddy was excited to stick around. There weren't that many people in the world who were close to Sean. His brothers and sisters were away in Ireland and they barely talked twice a year. Chase Brody was still on his vacation and wouldn't be back for another month, but even when he was in Capo City, Chase was off doing his vlogs for Bro Average. Since there was hardly anyone else he could think of, Sam was literally the closest bond he had, and he didn't even know them for a week!

Not that he was complaining.

Well, it would be nice if the conversation wasn't as one-sided.

Sean slipped his phone into his hoodie pocket and waited for the elevator to open.

When it did, he was surprised to find a pair of eyes meeting his.

"Oh, hi. Sean, right?" It was Signe, the woman who worked at the front desk. She had charming green eyes, brown shoulder length hair, and angular cheekbones. It must've been cold outside because she was wearing a beige trench coat, black leggings, and a white scarf made of wool.

If Sean wasn't carrying a living green eyeball in his hood, he would have been totally fine in this situation. Except he was, and Sam was getting curious as to who this new person was; Sean could feel his hood wiggle when Sam shifted enthusiastically.

"That's me. Hey, Signe," Sean greeted, already feeling nervous. He couldn't tell Sam to knock it off without looking crazy. Crazy suspicious. "Um, are you going up?"

"Yeah," Signe said, beaming. She moved to make room for Sean in the elevator. He obliged, albeit with some reluctance. "Some of my plants are up there. I water them every morning at five, but I completely ignored my alarm today."

They shared a laugh as the elevator closed. Signe pushed the roof button.

"So..." Sean trailed off as he felt Sam perk up. He frowned, deciding to keep quiet until Signe was out of the elevator.

"What are you up to today?" Signe asked.

"I'm gonna look for a job," Sean said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. While his hand was there, he quickly adjusted the hood to cover Sam a little better. "Uh, I didn't have much luck yesterday."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have some luck today," Signe offered. "And there must have one good thing that happened yesterday, right?"

"Right," Sean agreed. "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing today?"

"I'm—"

The elevator doors opened, revealing the top of the roof. Signe smiled at Sean apologetically. "This is my stop. See you later, Sean." She waved as the doors closed. Sean felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he waved back. Once the doors closed, however, he sighed to himself, relieved that Sam hadn't given themselves away. "That was close," he whispered, hoping Sam could hear him. "Please don't pull anything. I don't want people to freak out, okay?"

He hit the 1F button.

~***~

Honestly, Sean didn't understand why he expected job searching to be any easier than yesterday.

Sam didn't seem too interested in it, either. Sean felt the eyeball go still in his hood, probably to doze off while he searched by himself.

It wasn't like getting a job was that hard, though. If he really, really wanted to, Sean could just get a job at a McDonalds or Subway, but he would rather hug a cactus. He promised himself that he wouldn't get a job in the food industry, or any industry that handled food, because he heard a lot of stories about what went on behind the scenes. Adding on, Sean wanted to use the skills that he had instead of waste them on more mundane tasks. He had a fascination with computers and enjoyed taking them apart, so much that he built his own PC last year. The only problem was that Sean couldn't find any nearby jobs that fit his description. Not even Apple was in need of employees, which was rare.

The two of them gave up at eight o'clock in the evening. Sean was tired of walking around (he wasn't ready to get back on a train) and Sam was still groggy from their nap. Sean didn't get to eat lunch because he forgot to bring enough money on his person (he didn't even have a dollar), so there was no point in stopping at a fast food chain for dinner. He would just have to heat up a hot pocket when he got back to his place, as usual. He just didn't know what he would give Sam for food.

Would he have to feed Sam? Did Sam even eat? What if Sam had to feed on a living being? Sean shook his head. He didn't want this to go down like _The Little Shop of Horrors_.

As they passed by an alley, Sean glanced over at Sam, who was bobbing up and down next to him at eye level. "You don't eat humans, right?"

Sam closed their eye and gave a frantic shake of the head.

"Oh, that's reassuring—"

Just then, Sean spotted movement to his left. They had just passed the alley, but he was sure he saw people in there. If he didn't know any better, it looked like a fight.

"Ffffff—" Sean ran a hand through his hair, too distressed to finish his swear. He peeked around the corner, his eyes widening. A man with a pistol was cornering a boy who looked no older than fourteen.

"Money," he heard the man say. "Toss it, kid."

"Ah—Sam...ugh." Sean pulled up his hood and glanced worriedly at the eye. "Look—bud, shit's about to hit the fucking fan. Don't come near; I'll handle the situation."

With that, Sean rushed into the alley, fists balled. "Oi, fucker!"

The man turned his head and was already raising his gun towards Sean, his eyes cold. Sean faltered—big mistake—and heard the boy gasp. "Watch out!"

Sean instinctively raised a hand to his face, but to his surprise, was unfazed as a loud bang erupted from the gun. He lowered his hand to see Sam floating in front of him protectively, his eyeball-body morphed like a small shield. He saw the bullet (or what was left of it) clatter to the ground.

"What the hell—"

Sean didn't miss his chance again. He yelled and put as much power as he could into his right fist, driving it into the man's torso. The man screamed as he was thrown—literally thrown—into the brick wall behind him, smashing parts of it. Sean cringed as he heard a few snaps, knowing it was the sound of bones breaking. However, it took him a moment to realize it wasn't his body that was broken. In fact, his hand was completely unfazed, not a single scratch on it.

He stared in shock at his fist, then at the crumbly wall, then back at his fist. Sam looked at him, and for a moment Sean saw concern flash across their face.

The boy, who was still shaking in the corner, exhaled deeply. "Thank you!" he cried, but Sean wasn't facing him, nor paying attention. "How did you do that?"

Sean looked up at Sam, asking a silent question, but Sam's face was blank. And then, it clicked. He thought back to the train. The feeling he felt when Sam was clutching onto his arm...the weird, green marks that spread from his forearm throughout his body...no, could it be?

"Mister?"

Sean snapped back to the present.

He turned and saw the boy staring at him in pure amazement. "Wow, you're so awesome! What are you, a superhero?"

"What?" Sean muttered. "Oh, no, kid, you've got it all wrong..."

"Don't worry, I won't say a word," the boy said earnestly. "I get it, really. I respect your privacy. Thank you so much for saving me!"

Without another word, the boy ran out of the alley in a rush. Once he was gone, Sean sucked in a deep breath of air, allowing his hoodie to fall back onto his shoulders. A thousand questions were racing in his head. How did Sam block the bullet from hitting him? How was Sam so fast? And how did Sean punch the man into the wall? He barely lifted weights, let alone get into fist fights. Of course, it wasn't really a fist fight; the man had a gun for a weapon, and Sean—

Sam nudged his shoulder urgently. They seemed to be getting impatient waiting for Sean to move.

"You did something to me," Sean whispered to Sam. "When you wrapped around my arm, that green stuff...is this because of you?"

Sam suddenly developed an interest in the ground. They wouldn't meet Sean's eyes.

"You know what? This can wait until tomorrow," the Irishman said, afraid he was pressing too far. "Let's just...go home for now."

Sam nodded timidly. As Sean walked back to the apartment, Sam trailed behind him guiltily, the way a dog would pad over to their owner when they knew they did something wrong.

Sean didn't know what to think. He felt bad for making Sam feel that way, and the thought of suddenly developing super strength was amazing, yet he couldn't help but wonder why he was given a superpower, if one would call it that. Also, what else would come with this? Sean had heard the quote "Magic comes with a price" a million times in TV shows and movies. If he applied the same saying to his situation, then what kind of price would he pay? And why did Sam do that to him?

He couldn't think about it now. He refused to. He wanted to see the best in Sam, to believe that they would never want to cause him harm. They even blocked a bullet for him! How could he think Sam would do something to hurt him?

After a while, the two entered the apartment building. Sam quickly hid in Sean's hoodie as Signe looked over towards the door.

Sean's eyes scanned the room, noticing the sudden change in interior. The brown couch that used to sit by the door was now pressed against the left wall with a coffee table and some coasters. The fireplace was, for once, lit, casting a soft light in the other corner. The egg chair was now positioned towards the back corner of the room. In its place at the front sat an assortment of small chairs and circular tables for guests to sit on and drink tea.

"So you've noticed," Signe said. "I didn't like the previous layout of the room, so I moved some stuff around to make it more pleasant."

"Wow," said Sean. "This is a lot nicer." He smiled and pointed at the egg chair. "And you moved my favorite chair to the back."

"Oh," Signe said, looking a little disappointed. "If you want, I can move it back to where it was."

"What? I love it there!" Sean exclaimed, giving a thumbs-up. "You did a great job!"

Signe blushed. "Thank you. How did job searching go?"

Sean glanced away. "Not good."

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that," Signe said sincerely. "Are you gonna try again tomorrow?"

That was a good question. He didn't think he could handle being let down three days in a row, and besides, he had to figure out what the hell was going on with Sam and his newfound super strength. With that stress looming over his head, he didn't think he was going to be able to get a job so easily. Sean licked his lips. "I don't think so." Desperate to change the subject, he forced a smile and asked, "Did you move all the furniture by yourself?"

Signe's eyes crinkled as she laughed. "Yes, actually." Seeing the look on his face, she narrowed her eyes. "You're wondering how I managed to move it, aren't you?"

"I mean, lifting a couch usually is a two person job," Sean admitted. Then he realized what she meant. He paled. "Oh, you thought I meant it like that! No, I didn't mean it like—"

"I'm just messing with you. Um, I just pushed things around. No heavy lifting required," Signe said, scratching her nose.

"Heh, that makes sense," Sean said. He remembered Sam was still in his hood and made a sour face. He pretended to check his phone. "Ah, hey, I gotta go."

"Okay," she said, watching him curiously. Her eyes twinkled knowingly as he strode over to the elevator. Could she tell he was lying? "Goodnight."

The doors opened. Sean stepped in. "Goodnight," he said. They each flashed a smile as the doors closed.

It was almost funny how both of them dropped it immediately after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhhhh not too happy with the way this chapter turned out. Surprise, surprise, I'm not good at writing action scenes! Frankly, it's disgraceful, because I'm literally writing a superhero story.
> 
> Also, what do you think of Signe so far? I'm trying really hard to write her and do her justice because I admire her greatly, but hell if I know if it translates well onto this. She'll definitely be in more chapters.
> 
> And last but not least, I'm sorry if you're disappointed that there aren't much egos yet. It's just that I want them to be incorporated into the story naturally and at all the right times, so really what I'm saying is that there probably won't be an ego appearance until things heat up and Sean begins to discover his powers.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite the many mistakes included. I try to go back and edit it so it's easier to read and stuff. (If you ever find a mistake, please don't hesitate to call me out.) Thank you for the support and for reading this story! See you in the next chapter! <3


	4. Stick the Landing

Sean totally forgot that the week was over. When he woke up the next day at eight o'clock, he was surprised to see it was Saturday.

He yawned, glancing over to Sam's sleeping body. The tissue bed he had made the fella was still intact with some strips of tissue covering Sam like a hut. The eye was fast asleep, their body gently bobbing up and down. He wondered if that was the eye's way of breathing, the same way a person's stomach would move when they inhaled or exhaled. It was quite fascinating to think about. Sean wished he could learn more about Sam without having to ask yes/no questions.

The Irishman got up and did his morning routine, careful to tread lightly so as to not wake Sam. He put on a black shirt and glanced hesitantly at the red hoodie he wore yesterday. If he wanted to take Sam out today, he didn't know if he should use the same one again, especially if the kid had snitched (it was completely plausible) and told his friends about the "superhero" in the red hoodie. No, better not to risk it.

Yeah, he thought, examining his blue hoodie. This is a good idea!

"All right, Sam," Sean said, lifting up the tissue blanket draped over the eye. The eye blinked sleepily. "Morning time. Get up, get up..."

They shook themselves out of the bed and floated up to Sean's face, giving him a small nuzzle.

"Aw, thanks," Sean said. "Okay, we've got a not-so-busy day ahead of us. Ever since yesterday, I'm still confused as to what the hell is going on, and I need you to help me figure it out."

Sam nodded, puzzled but intrigued.

"Let's see..." Sean mumbled. He turned to his bookshelf when Sam suddenly bonked him on the head, demanding his attention. "Ow! What is it?" Sam hovered to Sean's red hoodie on the ground. There were a few splatters of blood from when the gunman had (apparently) spat blood onto the hoodie, but it blended in with the harsh red color. Sam reached down and started making a bed in the hood. "Ah, I get it, I get it," Sean said, exasperated. He picked the hoodie and swapped it with the blue one. "Is this what you mean? Do I wear this today?" A nod from the eye. All right then. Sean went over to his bookshelf near the door to his room. He sized it up and down, trying to find something easily replaceable and not of much value to him. It was hard because most of them were pop funkos and plushes he got from Chase (he loved the Spider-Man Tsum Tsum especially, which he liked to call Spider Loaf). There wasn't anything there worth breaking. "This is gonna be tough. Change of plan, Sam. I'm gonna find a punching bag. Stay right here."

He reached for the door handle and jerked it open. Immediately, Sam raced out of the apartment. "Sam! No!" He took off after him only to find the eyeball at the elevator, hitting the button.

"Not this shit again," he complained, bolting for the elevator door. But he was too late—Sam was already inside and giddily pressing the button to close it. Before they shut his view of the eye completely, he saw Sam jerk his eye up towards the ceiling in a taunting manner.

"Wha—oh, up!" Sean cried. Why was Sam behaving like this? Couldn't he catch a break for one day?

He jammed his finger into the button, hoping that if he smashed it repeatedly it would go faster. When it finally arrived, he headed for the roof at top speed—or at least as fast as the elevator would allow, which wasn't very fast.

Sam was waiting patiently on the ground when the doors opened, Sean spilling through them in distress. The man rested his eyes on them. _"Why?"_

Sam rolled backwards until they hit the wall before they bounced up, balancing on the edge of the roof. Sean's eyes widened. Despite the fact that Sam could float if they so wished, it was unnerving to see anything balanced so precariously over a ledge. Sean's palms were sweaty as he took a steady step towards Sam. "Hey, buddy, don't move, okay? I don't know what's gotten into your head recently, but—"

The eyeball stepped off the ledge.

Time seemed to slow down. Before Sean could even think, his feet were moving on their own accord, running towards the ledge. He outstretched his arm and managed to catch Sam by their tentacle, who was trying to wriggle free.

"Sam, I swear, you can't just jump off ledges an—"

Sam gave a harsh tug towards the ground, and they both fell over the edge.

Sean shouted a curse and wanted to shut his eyes, but his body froze up on him. He felt wind howl in his ear as Sam frantically tapped him on the forehead. His body tipped forward and his arms were spread out in an attempt to survive the fall.

The ground was so close now. Sixty feet, fifty, forty—

Then he stopped. Frozen in midair. It almost seemed like time had stopped, but Sean could hear the sound of cars rushing around him.

Sam floated into view. Their eye was wide with excitement. They playfully gestured towards the sky with their eye, telling Sean something he didn't need to hear in order to understand.

"F-I'm flying?" Sean exclaimed. He concentrated hard and thought, Up.

Almost immediately, Sean shot off like a bottle rocket into the air. His breath was knocked out of him and his eyes watered up, but the sudden feeling of being totally in control of his flight was giving him tingles throughout his body. He remembered the helium-like feeling he experienced on the train when Sam grabbed him. It was the same feeling he was having now, only with more control and less panic.

He couldn't tell if the tears leaking from his eyes were because of the wind or because he was too goddamn overwhelmed with joy. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and took in a breath of air.

So he could fly. That was new. What was he going to do now?

His face brightened up and he grinned. "Sam, let's go!" Whooping at the top of his lungs, he flew soared towards the tallest buildings he could find and took in the view from above, seeing all the little people and cars on the street. If anyone was looking up, they would have seen a tiny speck of red in the sky and wondered if it was their imagination.

"Hello, Capo City!" he shouted down, shaking with laughter. He did a small spin midair, pretending to be a ballet dancer. These were the things he would never do in public, but it was fair game when nobody could see him. "I'm on top of the world! Whoo!"

Sam watched him, beaming. Their expression seemed to say, _It took you long enough, you dummy!_

Speaking of which...

"Did you mean for this to happen?" he asked Sam.

Sam's eye twinkled with mischievousness. Of course they did. No wonder they looked so ready to jump off a building. 

"First super strength, now flight?" Sean said. "I'm not gonna get laser vision, am I?"

Sam shrugged.

"I would prefer Spider-Man, but I'm not complaining one bit," Sean said. "Sam, I love you to bits, buddy." He gave them a pat on the head. Sam put their head into the pat, begging for more attention and praise. Sean would have stayed there for another hour and obliged, if he hadn't sneezed in the next instant.

"By Jaysus, it's freaking cold up here." The Irishman shivered. "We should probably land back where we started this, huh? Even though I would love to watch the sunset from here..."

They navigated through the skies and finally found the apartment building after a few minutes. Sean gently lowered himself until his two feet were planted in the gravel of the roof.

For a few moments, he was speechless. Then he caught his breath, holding his knees as he bent over from slight exhaustion. "That was—" He huffed. "Amazing!" He sent a warm smile in Sam's general direction. "I still have so many questions, though. Why did you give me these powers?"

Right, Sean thought, realizing he would never really get an answer. It got tiring just watching the eyeball shrug, nod, and shake their head, though. And sometimes Sean was glad Sam couldn't give him an answer. He didn't want to think about it, but the reasoning behind it troubled him. It could have been an accident. Maybe Sam didn't intend on giving Sean superpowers.

He shook his head, blinking rapidly. _It doesn't matter,_ he thought. _I don't need an answer, anyway._

"Sam, I've been thinking," Sean wondered aloud. "These powers...I don't know what to do with them. I can't just casually fly around the city or lift tons of weights. What am I supposed to do?"

Sam rolled their eye at him. They stopped bouncing from side to side as their eyebrow (or where it would've been) furrowed, lost in thought. After a few minutes, just when Sean began to shiver from being on the roof in a thin hoodie and shorts, Sam guided Sean to the elevator and back to his floor. 

"Are you trying to show me something?" Sean inquired, pressing his lips together. Sam only ignored him and floated towards his bookshelf. Sean suddenly felt embarrassed when he noticed how much Spider-Man related collectibles there were. He tried for a smile. "Heh, this is a comic book superhero. He's my favorite one _ever_ , and he can shoot webs, stick to walls...he's an all-around cool dude."

Sam rolled their eye and bonked Sean's Spider Loaf in the face as if they were making a point.

Sean thought it was cute. "Aw, are you jealous? Don't worry, Sam, I like you just as much."

Sam blinked, a deadpan expression on their face. They angrily bumped into the Spider Loaf again.

"Why are you so mad? Calm down, it's just a plush."

If Sam could talk, the situation would have been ten times worse. With the same harshness used on the train, Sam wrapped his tentacle around Spider Loaf's small body and hoisted it over to Sean like a crane. _Look at this stupid thing!_ Sean thought he could hear Sam saying. _Tell me what you see!_

"He's a superhero!" Sean cried. He hunched his shoulders in an attempt to find more meaning behind Sam's actions. "I don't get what you want me to see— _oh_!" He buried his face in his hands and let out a dry chuckle, mortified at how long it took him to get it. "Oh, Christ, I get it. Superhero...haha...I'm such an idiot!" He looked up past his hands splayed across his face and shot Sam an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry I didn't get it at first...superhero, huh..."

Sean fell silent. Superhero...they didn't exist in he real world. They were for comic books and cartoons and movies where everyone accepted them. The real world was different because superpowers didn't exist. In all of history—at least, recorded history—there were never any superheroes arriving to save the day. They came in the form of firefighters and police officers, not people in tights and capes.

Still, the thought of being just like his idol, Spider-Man...it was extremely tempting. Knowing he could save people just like they did in the comics because he had _powers_ fascinated him. He could do it if he put some effort into it. Plus, if he did a good enough job, people would probably pay him in thanks for being so awesome. And what was the harm in a little fame for being the world's first superhero?

He ran his hands through his hair. Yeah, he was a desperate guy. "You know what, Sam? I think I'll take your advice." Sean looked to his right, spotting himself in the mirror. Him, a scrawny man wearing a bloody red hoodie and some ripped jeans as a superhero?

Impossible. But if he learned anything from comics, it was that the impossible wasn't as _impossible_ as everyone would think.

He grinned, spinning on his heel to face Sam. "We've got work to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sean finally considers becoming a superhero! Good for him. Means I get to write some cool stuff soon!
> 
> It's also really hard to write detailed and entertaining scenes that are supposed to be action-packed, even if it's just flying. I don't even know why, but I hope it improves soon. Also, I didn't realize how hard it would be to write Sam's character without having them speak, especially since their body language is so limited as well! I'll have to find a way to give them more expressions (if you have some ideas, please let me know!)
> 
> On another note, you'll probably have noticed that the title of this story has changed. It used to be "The Adventures of JackieBoy Man" but now it's "The Septic Superhero: JackieBoy Man". Knowing me, it might be changed later in the future, which I will be sure to let you know about if it happens.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this story so far! It really means a lot to me and gives me the motivation to continue this! I absolutely love reading comments; they just make my day! See you in the next chapter <3
> 
> P.S. What would you call Sam's "tentacle" thing? I've tried looking up the definition but I'm not sure of it. (Ah, and if you haven't noticed, Sam's pronouns are they/them in the story because it's harder to write plot when the only two characters in the chapter are he/him.)


	5. In Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time ever, the world has a real superhero.
> 
> Or something close to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm so sorry this post came a little late. But hey, I'm glad I could post this chapter on April Fool's. No, it's not a prank. Yes, this is a legit, canon chapter.
> 
> Now you're probably wondering what is in the chapter and why it's at the beginning. Well, it's because...I just wanted to. Also, thanks for supporting me throughout the story. I hope you haven't given up on it yet xD
> 
> Last but not least, shoutout to Subtle_Shenanigans for telling me Sam's tentacle is called an optic nerve!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter.

Since Sean had no job to go to, he practiced using his newfound powers throughout the week in his apartment. He started off slow by controlling his speed and hovering around. The first time he tried to float to his living room from his bedroom, he missed the door, crashed into his bookshelf, and spent the next thirty minutes picking up all the books and figurines off the floor.

Using his super strength wasn't as difficult, but it was certainly hard to control how much force he put behind a punch. Sean didn't have the money to buy a punching bag, so he found a couple of bean bag chairs at the nearest donation center and made do with those. He tried to punch it with as much force as a regular human, but he sent his fist and the bag flying into his wall. After that event, he would have to make a mental note to repair the drywall. And get lots of tape.

Sam wasn't much of a help, but they tried their best to give Sean encouragement when he needed it. Just having Sam around made Sean feel a lot better; they kept him motivated to learn how to use his superpowers. Occasionally, when Sean started to get really itchy from overheating (unfortunately for him, he couldn't sweat), Sam would pop back into the room with a water bottle wrapped around their optic nerve of a tail.

Sean took the water bottle and chugged it gratefully. "Thanks, buddy."

Sam nodded their head and settled into their bed. Ever since Sean discovered he could fly, he had begun to accept Sam into his life a lot more. One of the first things he did was give Sam a cozier bed to sleep in, because he was pretty sure a bed of tissues wasn't as comfy as it sounded. He went to the donation center and picked out a few bird beds he found, but because they were meant for things tinier than a softball-sized eye, Sean cut out a portion of the beds and stuck them together to make one bed. The best part about it was the loops on the sides of the two beds, which meant Sean could hang it from the ceiling and have it take up less space than on his bedside table. Sam seemed to like it in the air, too.

After about a week of training, Sean had things under control. His money was running low, but he didn't think about that. He needed to take his mind off things like that.

He washed the red hoodie clean of bloodstains and pulled on red joggers to match with it. He never had a favorite color, but red was just the best thing he had. Plus, he thought it'd be cool if he could see the kid he saved again. This way, he'd be more recognizable. Ah, and he couldn't forget to pay homage to his favorite superhero, Spider-Man, so red was perfect.

Still, a superhero costume wasn't anything without their mask. Sean wasn't about to parade around Capo City with his face uncovered.

"It's for safety reasons," he explained to Sam. "I need a mask so nobody knows it's me. If they knew that, people would freak out or try to kill me. Rule number one: if people know your identity, they can find anything on you."

Sam's eye lit up. He whirled around Sean once. Instantly, Sean felt something cold slip onto his face. It felt like a face mask. Sam ushered him over to a mirror where he could see his reflection.

"Wow!"

He was wearing a blue mask. It wasn't fancy or anything, but Sean could hardly tell it was him through the mirror. "This is amazing! I won't even ask how you managed to do this, but good job, Sam!" Sean patted him on the head. "I suppose it's about time we fight crime!"

~***~

A man sighed as he hit the walk button at a crosswalk. He straightened up his lab coat, shivering as the cold air blew past his pale face.

It was another busy day at the hospital, so many people who needed treatment, so many lives to save, not that he didn't enjoy it; saving lives was the main reason he wanted to be a doctor in the first place, while some of his colleagues said it was for the good pay. Saving lives for wealth didn't sit right with him, but the man didn't want to hold it against them. In the end, it didn't matter what their motives were. Whether they were here out of good will or self-interest, they had a job to do.

After waiting for a minute, the traffic light blinked up a white image of a walking man. The man brightened up a little and shuffled forward.

Most of the cars in the intersection were slowing down to a halt, waiting for the man to cross. One car didn't notice and kept speeding towards him.

The man noticed a little too late. Wide-eyed, he froze like a deer in headlights as he saw the car showed no signs of stopping. He couldn't feel his feet.

The car was so close, barely even a foot away. Time came to a screeching halt.

And then something blocked his view, drowning it in red. Blood?

The man blinked in terror. No, he saw blood on a regular basis, but the red wasn't blood. It was a person's clothes.

"Phew," the person said. From what the man could tell, the person was a male, probably in their twenties. "It's good luck that I got here in time. You okay, doc?"

His eyes took in the scene. He didn't know how the man got there in time, but he was pressed against the car, his hands on the hood like he was stopping it from moving. The man didn't believe it was possible, but he noticed a few dents in the hood where his savior's hands were holding.

Other cars in the surrounding area had started to notice. They stared in shock along with him, despite the green traffic lights that glowed.

"You...stopped ze car," the doctor noted breathlessly in his German accent. "You saved me."

The other man turned around to face the doctor, letting go of the car (probably because the driver no longer had their foot on the gas pedal). The doctor looked him up and down. He was wearing a red hoodie and red joggers, which was honestly not a bad look. He had his hood pulled up, but the doctor could see bits of his emerald green hair poking out. Under that, a blue mask was plastered around his eyes, making the doctor unable to identify his savior.

The savior laughed. "Well, I wouldn't just let you die. Could you imagine that? 'Is there a doctor in the house?!'" The man paused, expecting the doctor to laugh. He didn't. "Heh, heh. Tough crowd. Look, I've gotta blast. Can you get home by yourself?"

"Vat—ah, yes, thank you for asking," the doctor said gratefully. "I owe you my life! Vat is your name?"

"Ahah..." The man scratched his head and glanced worriedly at the people around the intersection, who were curious enough to poke their heads out of their cars. Once he saw someone pulling out a phone, he nervously chuckled. "I'm working on it."

"You're..." The doctor squinted his eyes. "You're vorking on your own _name_?"

" _Superhero_ name. Can't tell you my real name—I'm getting sidetracked!" The man saluted. "Toodles!"

And then, just when things couldn't get weirder, the man in red literally _flew_ into the air like magic and disappeared into the low-hanging clouds. The crowd gave audible gasps and cries of wonder.

The doctor almost dropped his bag. A superhero? Impossible!

_Ah, but ze saying is zat superheroes_ are _ze impossible_ , the doctor thought. He shook his head and craned his neck up, looking for the spot where the hero disappeared. His name tag, which was still on his coat, flashed in the street lamp's light.

"Thank you," he told the sky.

Dr. Schneeplestein never forgot that moment. He would go to work the next day, his body a little lighter, and his colleagues would ask him what happened. Dr. Schneeplestein would grin and say nothing, and when the news reports appeared, talking about a mysterious superhero, his grin would only widen.

Because he knew there was someone in the world that wanted to save people out of the kindness of their heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a German doctor we all know and love! Saved by an Irish superhero we all know and love! Good shit, good shit.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed Schneep's first appearance. In truth, he was just gonna be replaced by some random person without an important role, and then I was like, "Yo, it's April Fool's, why not just write Schneep instead?" So that's why he's there. Happy April Fool's. (I'm sure you guys have gotten pranked today, so this is a small gift, I guess.)
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	6. New News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's days like these that make me wish we knew JackieBoy Man's real name...
> 
> When that day comes, you bet your ass I'll be changing every "Sean" to his name, no matter how stressing that gets.
> 
> I've got something I want to add at the bottom of the chapter, so stick around for that if you're interested enough.

After he saved that doctor from nearly getting hit by a car, Capo City went wild.

That wasn't the only thing he did last night. He worked around the city for hours, stopping cars, muggers (it was more of a playful punch), and other various superhero tasks. Sean made sure to fly low enough for people to spot his red attire. As much as he wanted to stay a little anonymous, he feared that people would freak out if they didn't know who was behind the sudden acts of heroism. If they could at least see him, Sean hoped they would understand that he wasn't there to hurt anyone—besides petty criminals.

At midnight, he decided to stop for the night, despite the adrenaline pumping in his veins, begging for more action. Sean flew high into the sky and navigated through the clouds to cover his tracks. Once he found his way back to his apartment, he almost dropped down to enter through the main door when he realized there would be people in the main lobby, if not just Signe. He couldn't let that happen (as much as he wanted to say hi to her) so he touched down onto the roof and took the elevator down to his floor.

Sean slipped out of his hoodie and joggers. Sam did another whirl around his face with astounding speed. The blue mask slipped off his face like melted wax, disappearing into thin air. He tucked Sam gently into their bird bed and took a warm shower. As he stepped out and got ready for bed, his hair still dripping wet, he heard his phone buzz. 

It was a text from Chase.

 _Finally, a text from him,_ Sean thought, turning the phone to face him. _Wonder what it's about..._

 _Yooooooooo,_ the text read. _You see the news? There's a superhero!_

Sean raised his eyebrows, amazed that Chase knew about the news while in Tahiti. He sent back a text, playing dumb: _What?_

 _Brooooo ppl saw some dude in red flying around the city or somethin,_ Chase replied back. Was it just Sean, or was Chase responding faster than he normally did? _Hang on I've got a link._

His phone buzzed again, this time of a link to their local news website. Yeah, Sean could definitely tell Chase was excited. The dude never went out of his way to find information unless it was for important things. This was one of those things.

As Sean read the article, the corners of his mouth twitched. Sam peered apprehensively over his shoulder.

"'First Ever Hero in Capo City?'" Sean read aloud, assuming Sam couldn't read. "'A few hours ago, locals in downtown Capo City spotted a man in red flying through the skies...'"

He kept reading. He was so engrossed in the article that he read the entire thing to Sam, never stuttering once. Normally he would sit down after a while, but he forgot he was even standing up. Everything in the article was amusing and terrifying at the same time. They knew about their new "hero". It had only been a few hours and they were already praising him, especially for his first heroic act, which had been saving the doctor, though nobody could get into contact with the latter to ask for an interview.

Sean wiped at the corners of his eyes. A sense of pride swelled in his chest, and he smiled at Sam, who must've sensed their friend's feelings. Their eye dilated at the sight of Sean's smile.

Sean's voice was barely audible, yet he felt powerful when he spoke. "We did it, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but I just wanted to let you know that I made a tumblr account for my Ao3 stuff called fanta-zeeyaa. That way, if you're interested, you can check that to see if I have said anything about the story, whether it's updates or just side comments/notes. Heh, I'm not really sure how to describe it. It's also a great way to ask me questions on anything!
> 
> https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com = my tumblr :)
> 
> Another thing I want to mention is that the chapters will range from REALLY short to moderately medium (and possibly long?). I don't think I can space out chapters to have the same length every time, so some chapters could literally be a quick snip. Like this one right here: it's just Sean reading an article.


	7. Just Jack?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ǐ͗̄̎̄t͋'̃ͧͨ̇̋̽s̉̏ ͦͥqͪui͌̽̓̋̓tͦ̾̈͋̔ëͬ̊̋ͫ̄ ̓͋͒ͯͤ̿̉l̆̋ͧ̐͋̚aćͥ̿̐̂̚kl̾̆uͭ͋̿́̐ͭ̚st͑ͬͪe̒ͯͫ́̊r̓ͩͬͥ̎̄.͑ͦͪͦ.̊.

Fire.

There was so much of it, drowning the building in its waves of intense heat. Workers on the bottom floor scrambled out in terror, the hair on their arms singed, and distanced themselves from the building. Those who were out of harm's way were glancing at the top floors, wondering if their co-workers and friends would be exiting after them. Some of the people who were ducked under trees coughed into their shirts, attempting to get fresh air back into their lungs.

As everyone looked up, they could see the fire had turned into a blazing inferno on the eighth floor. Everything above that was heavily shrouded in dark gray smoke, polluting the sky. Sirens wailed in the distance, horns blew, and ambulances were quickly filing into the scene, ushering people to the back of their car. Yet as worried spectators looked on, they felt a sinking feeling in their gut. Though the firefighters were there, they knew they wouldn't be able to put it out in time to save those trapped on the upper floors.

And then someone pointed up suddenly, as if their body was jerked to life. "Look!"

Heads turned. In the distance, the most peculiar thing was flying through the air—a red speck.

"It's that hero guy!" a woman shouted through her shirt.

As the red speck grew closer, it slowly became clear that it was a man in a red hoodie and red joggers. The crowd of onlookers gasped and chattered feverishly as the man flew to the firetruck and grabbed the hose from the side of the truck. A firefighter started to walk towards him when a couple of his crew stopped him, pointing.

The hero shot into the air again and dragged the hose with him. It seemed impossible that a man with no visible muscles could have lifted such a heavy object with him, but he was already flying—the impossible was already out the window. The firefighters on the ground realized what he was trying to do and barked orders to turn the hose on. A jet of water burst from the hose and started to douse the place. More smoke rose into the air, clashing. The hero adjusted his grip on the hose and covered anything that so much as singed with water.

The crowd clapped, but some had started to notice the building wasn't as stable as it was before.

"The building's gonna collapse!" 

The hero turned. Without hesitation, he flew back up to the eighth floor and looked it up and down, thinking to himself. Now that he was standing still, there seemed to be a green dot floating next to him, but it was so small that nobody could get a good glimpse. Finally, the hero rushed into the building and disappeared out of sight. The next thing they knew, there was a loud creaking sound, like metal bending. Parts of the building that looked unstable were suddenly righting themselves to be more even and balanced.

Inside the building, the workers trapped on the floor were fleeing down the stairs as fast as they could. Those who stopped to stare at the man in red who was holding up the hot ceiling with his body were shaken out of their awe by fellow peers and guided out by a green eyeball. The eyeball whizzed around the building, allowing people to use it as a stepping stone for broken stairs and providing emotional support, though it seemed odd that an eye could do such a thing.

Firefighters hustled through the building, checking for stragglers, but there was no need. In only five minutes, everyone was safely out of the building. The hero was still holding up the ceiling, however, so firefighters had to get equipment to secure the ceiling from crashing and bringing the rest of the building down with it. As they worked tirelessly, the hero patiently held up the ceiling for them until it was safe to let go.

The crowd made sure his valiant efforts didn't go unnoticed. The man looked out a window to sneak a glance at the ground and was immediately met with thundering applause. A few paramedics had stopped wrapping bandages to give a nod of approval, and a police officer cheered from her car.

Cameras and phones were already being whipped out as the man jumped out of the window to land—gracefully—eight floors down. Someone yelled, "Smile!" and readied their camera. He hesitated for a second and flashed a peace-sign their way, his hand shaky.

"Thank you so much," an old man said, shaking his hand. The hero flinched at the sudden movement yet shook it back, albeit weakly and with a touch of gingerness. "What's your name, son?"

"Ah, well," the hero said nervously. He had a faint Irish accent, but it seemed suppressed. "You mean my...real name?"

"You're superhero name, obviously!" a twelve-year-old girl said, awkwardly brushing past to stare at him in wonder. "All superheroes have one!"

"Uh..."

"You just flew, put out a fire, and lifted an entire half of a building up with your bare hands!" another person chimed in. It was a man in his early twenties. "You're quite like a jack of all trades, eh?"

"I'm not sure that's the correct term—" the hero started to say.

"Jack!" the twelve-year-old shouted. "Perfect! That's your name!"

"It is?"

Too late to change it now. The crowd had already picked up on the name, chanting it together. People were warming up to it, much to the man's dismay. After a brief pause, he shrugged his shoulders and puffed out his chest, attempting to appear confident. "My name is Jack!"

"Jack!" the crowd boomed. "Thank you!"

He grinned, his eyes crinkling, and shot high into the air, flying off.

As the newly named hero disappeared from sight, the crowd began to disperse. Of course, the paramedics were still offering assistance and first-aid, and the firefighters were still going in and out of the extinguished building, but most of the crowd came from outside the building. The Jim News truck was already packing up, having just finished their "groundbreaking news" that was "better than that one murder case in a manor".

Finally, when the last of them left, and the trucks drove away, another person stepped onto the scene. A man with pointed ears and arched eyebrows leaned against a tree to take shelter from the boiling sun. That wasn't surprising, seeing as he was dressed in all black. The only drops of color were his hair and eyes, which burned dark green like poison.

"The superhero, _Jack_..." he muttered to himself, his voice raspy. He rubbed his throat irritably and wiped the drops of blood on his jeans with distaste. The man chuckled softly, but his features twisted into a hungry wolf. "How _lackluster_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell yeah.
> 
> Sorry I didn't update in a week, I promise I'm not dead or dropping this story. If I were, I'd at least let you know haha. Just had to think about what I wrote and what I wanted to happen. Plus, I kept putting off writing.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter a little more than the rest. :)


	8. Hands? Aflame. Engineer? Lame. Handyman? Game.

Sean couldn't believe how much it burned.

He knew he should have brought gloves or some sort of heat resistant clothing. He was so stupid to think that he could be a hero in such casual, non-practical clothes. When he entered the building to stop the fire, he didn't realize how hot it'd get. The hoodie he wore was thick, meant to be worn in the winter because of how hot it could keep a person. By the time he flew back out to drop the hose, his forehead was burning up, his brow creased in concentration. He felt like a marshmallow over a bonfire.

Then the building was lurching to the side precariously. Everyone knew it was going to fall in the next ten seconds, it was inevitable. Sean braced himself and flew back inside the building, which had not cooled as much as he hoped it would, and pressed his hands to the ceiling. He took a deep breath, feeling the ceiling above him heat up, and shoved his entire body against it to keep it upright. The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt. Carrying a couch was no big deal. This was so much different; it was an entire building versus his above-average strength, and he knew it was a losing battle. Though the fire had been extinguished for a minute, the surrounding area it had touched was still burning like a hot fork on a stove. Sean's hands were stinging with heat to the point where they were freezing cold and numb. His back, which he had pressed against the ceiling, was starting to smoke.

_This must've been what Atlas felt like_ , he thought, straining his arms to hold out under the unbearable weight. He grimaced as firefighters started to rush in. They gave him a look of utter gratefulness and were talking to him, but he couldn't make out their words. He knew what they were trying to do, though, so he kept holding the sky for as long as they needed him to. Sean couldn't let them carry anything like this. It was a burden.

After what seemed like hours upon hours of agony, and when Sean's arms finally felt like lead, the firefighters stepped back from the corners of the room and relaxed their shoulders. There was cheering then, and Sean knew they had finally secured the ceiling.

_You can let go now_ , they were telling him. _We've lifted you of your burden._

It was a wonder in itself when Sean didn't immediately collapse to the floor and pass out. His flight gave out on him quickly and he hugged the warm floor. A couple of firefighters were crowded around him, but to his surprise, they didn't intrude on him or ask him to stand up. They didn't look down on him for being a vigilante, or for having weird, supernatural powers. They just gave him a pat on the back, a water bottle, and a towel to wipe his face off with, to which Sean accepted.

"You did good work, son," a man in his thirties said. "An entire building...that really _is_ extraordinary."

Sean didn't know what to say and if he could even muster up words, so he nodded and chugged down the water. When he finally felt decent enough to rise, the firefighters were clapping, praising him.

It felt weird to be surrounded by people who praised him. Who thought of him as a hero. As a savior. Sean never had an experience like this before. It was completely alien, and he didn't know how to react to it. It was like having people sing happy birthday to him...what would be the normal thing to do in a situation like that? Sing along? Clap? Smile? What was he supposed to do?

Sean bowed his head, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His hands were still burning hot, but he tried his best to push the pain back into the corners of his mind and let the adrenaline take over. Without even looking at his arms, he could tell the hairs would be singed even under the hoodie sleeves. He had to go home soon. He couldn't stay out in the public like this for too long. It would be ruined one way or another.

Sean leaped out the window and tried his best to land gently on the ground. There were cameras flashing and more applause, but he couldn't be interested in it then. Now that his adrenaline was starting to fade and the action was over, he began to wonder where Sam was. However, he didn't get too far in his thoughts when "Smile!" was shouted at him. He forced his hand into a peace-sign, but his arm was shaking with the effort to keep it up.

It wasn't a second later when he put down his hand that a man came up to him and shook his hand. Sean flinched, feeling a sharp poke in his palm, but squeezed the man's hand lightly, avoiding more pain to his hand and trying not to break the man's.

"Thank you so much," he said. He tilted his head to the side. "What's your name, son?"

Sean's mouth went dry, taken aback by the question. "Ah, well." Realizing his Irish accent was obvious as all hell, he went for a deeper, neutral tone. "You mean my...real name?"

"You're superhero name, obviously!" a girl chirped. "All superheroes have one!"

"Uh..."

"You just flew, put out a fire, and lifted an entire half of a building up with your bare hands!" another man added. "You're quite like a jack of all trades, eh?"

"I'm not sure that's the correct term—" Sean started.

"Jack!" the girl shouted, interrupting Sean. "Perfect! That's your name!"

"Eh? It is?" He held out his hands as if he could stop them from any sudden ideas, but the crowd had already accepted it as fact, nodding and chanting "Jack! Jack! Jack!"

Sean grimaced, but did his best to shrug it off. He didn't like the name Jack—kids who picked on him in primary school always called him Jack, so the name sounded malicious. Still, he puffed out his chest and grinned. "My name is Jack!"

It was time to leave. He shot off into the sky and headed for his apartment, Sam trailing behind him quietly.

~***~

Luckily, Signe wasn't on the roof when he landed. Her plants, which he had discovered were hidden behind the door to the roof, showed signs of recent watering. That meant she was outside probably no less than twenty minutes ago.

Thank God Sean showed up later. He couldn't imagine Signe seeing him like this, nor could he risk her discovering his identity. Still, his heart kind of sunk at the thought. Maybe Signe would be a great person to tell, right? She could keep a secret...

"No," Sean said aloud, blinking. "Stupid thought, get out of my head!"

Sam perched on his shoulder, glancing at Sean in confusion. They must've been wondering what Sean was thinking about.

"Nothing important, Sam," he assured them. "Just...never mind."

He reached out for the metal doorknob and hissed in pain. The pain he had been trying to suppress was coming back to the surface in small waves. Touching a hot doorknob was stimulating the nerves in his hands, bringing the searing pain of when he held up the burning ceiling back to life. Sean winced and widened his eyes as he stared down at his hands. It didn't occur to him how bad he had damaged them or his body until then. His hands, which were usually pale and smooth, were red and blistering.

Sean blew out a breath of air. "Oooh, that's not good. That's not good."

Looking around, he spotted Signe's watering can next to her sunflower. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and poured a generous amount of water onto his hands, feeling the chilly water subdue the burns. He did this until his hands were in better shape and dumped the rest of the water over his head, relishing in the coolness it brought. If only Signe was growing aloe...he could've stolen a piece and slathered his hands with it.

Sam watched in slight horror behind Sean, but the man was already done. Sean, dripping with water from head to toe, looked guiltily at the empty can and picked it up. "Let's go, Sam."

The eye nodded and followed him inside and down a floor. As soon as the door closed, Sean bit his lip. " _Fuck._ My hands are on _fucking_ fire."

And yet, before he dipped his hands into a bucket of iced water, he hastily grabbed Signe's can and filled it back up to the top. After seeing Sam's questioning look, Sean defended, "What? Least I could do is replenish the water I wasted. She wouldn't mind...I think."

Sam slowly nodded, glancing down into the bucket.

"Oh, you must be hot, too," Sean realized. He moved his hands to the side and motioned at Sam. "Here, you can chill in it if you want."

They reluctantly obliged. Sam hopped into the bucket of ice and immediately jumped out, their pupils going small in terror. Water splashed everywhere. Sean laughed.

"Buddy, it's ice and water, of course it's gonna be freezing," he explained. He moved his hands and felt the numbness kick in. "Right, I should probably take my hands out before I get frostbite or something like that." He looked down at himself. "And I should probably change into better clothes."

While Sam glared at the bucket of ice, Sean tossed the red costume into the depths of his closet and threw on a tank top and shorts. Half of his back and arms were beginning to show rashes, something that irritated him greatly. He couldn't sweat at all, so instead of sweat he got rashes from overheating. It wasn't unbearable until today because Sean never had a reason to sweat—it's not like he did anything physically straining in years. But now, he started to understand the amount of exercise he would be getting if he wanted to keep up the vigilantism.

"Goddammit," he muttered, resisting the urge to scratch at his shoulder. Just then, the door rang, and Sam scurried off to hide.

Sean exited his bedroom and opened the living room door, unsure of what he was expecting. Fortunately, it was Signe.

Unfortunately, it was _Signe_.

_Crap._

She was in a white blouse and capris, something completely different from her usual wardrobe. Her wispy hair was tucked behind her ears. "Hey, Sean—oh, gosh, are you okay?"

Sean froze. He knew she would notice, it was that obvious, but he didn't think she'd actually ask if he was okay. Frankly, Sean thought she'd joke about it.

"Ah, it's fine," Sean lied. "Just...really intense workout today. Haha. Don't worry, this happens a lot. Overheating."

"Oh," Signe said. "Hope it goes away soon. Um, have you seen my watering can? I was gonna water some plants on the roof but it's not there anymore."

Sean's eyes widened. "Sorry about that! I was on the roof earlier and I noticed you were out of water, so I brought it here to refill it for you." He awkwardly left the door and grabbed the can off his kitchen counter. "Here you go."

"Aww." She took the can from his blistered hands. "You're too kind. Thank you for this."

"No problem. I'm glad I could help." The blush from Sean's face was easily masked. "But I'm guessing you didn't come here just to ask about your can? Uh, not that I don't mind you coming here, it's just peculiar."

"Well, you mentioned you were job hunting, right?" Signe asked. Sean nodded. "I know it sounds weird of me to ask, but would you like a job working in the apartment?"

"Ah..." Sean's refusal died in his throat before he could form a coherent thought. He _despised_ hotel management. While he was in college, he got a degree for it, but he didn't want it. Hotel management was _hell_. He promised himself he'd never work in that business again, and here Signe was, offering him the one thing he didn't want.

"It's not such a bad job," she said gently. "It pays well. I just make sure this place doesn't go to hell or anything. You could be a handyman. Or an engineer. Or—"

"Okay," Sean blurted.

"Really?"

Whoops. "Ah...well, I'm no engineer, but I think I could fix pipes and whatnot. It's just—are you sure you want to hire me?"

"Of course," Signe said immediately. "You're a great person, I can see it. And it'd be a shame to have to kick you out of the apartment because you couldn't pay a bill," she added jokingly. She cleared her throat. "Seriously, I think you'd be great here."

"I used to work in hotel management, actually," Sean said nervously. Shaking his head, he looked at Signe. "Thank you for this job. You've basically saved me."

"No biggie, really," she said. "I have one question, however."

"What is it?"

"Do you want some aloe for your hands?"

Sean grinned. "Saved me again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love making chapter titles. Some of the titles for this story make me proud.
> 
> Also, I did it! A chapter only 3 days after the last! (Please don't expect me to do that from now on, though, I wish! XD)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :D


	9. Take a Shot Every Time Someone Says Aloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is self-explanatory.
> 
> Please don't actually take a shot. Just drink water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story, I usually write what I'm gonna include in chapters in the summary so I can cross them out as I finish writing them, but I was in 7,853 characters in when I realized I hadn't written any of the four things I wanted to write. A+ planning/organization lol anyways enjoy this chapter that was long overdue

When the burns finally went away and Sean could touch things without tearing up, he thought it was time to get back outside. Signe was kind enough to wait until he was feeling all better, but he found it hard to lie to her about why he couldn't work for the next few days.

"Ah, well, it wasn't really just overheating," Sean had told her awkwardly, face flushing as Signe lightly grabbed his wrist. He watched her grab the bottle of aloe vera and flip the cap open. "I was trying to cook afterwards, but I, um, touched the...stove. With...with my arms. I tripped, actually. And my, uh, arms ended up pressing against it."

"That's quite the story," Signe laughed, applying some aloe vera onto his arms. "Not sure if I should believe it or not."

"Ehh," Sean said, trying to think of what to say. In all honesty, it was a shit lie. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a light hiss of pain. "Well, maybe some parts of it aren't all too true."

"I'm guessing you did something more embarrassing than tripping onto a heated stove? Is that why you're lying?" Signe asked, but her voice wasn't accusing at all. Mostly teasing.

Signe applied more aloe to his other arm and hand. It was really cold and gel-like, which surprised Sean. He'd never used aloe in his life and quietly mourned all the times he'd burned himself as a child without it. "Aha, I can't confirm nor deny."

"God, your arms are really messed up," Signe observed. "I can't believe you're not crying."

"Uh, thank you," Sean replied. He smiled, and in an attempt to make a joke, said, "I was just drying my tears as you knocked on the door."

She giggled softly. "Seriously, though, it might take you a week to heal. Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor? I know a guy."

Sean waved her off. "It's all good. This aloe is doing _wonders_."

"Still..." Signe trailed off. "These burns are—yeah, okay." She patted his left hand and closed the cap on the bottle. "I'm finished. A week of healing, okay? You can't do mechanic work if you can't even hold things."

"Maybe so," said Sean. "I'd like to think I could."

"Pfft," Signe said, standing up. Out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw Sam peek out from his bedroom. Sean frantically gestured to stay hidden; the eyeball obliged. "I won't let an injured worker work. That was hard to say. Sean, get some rest." Signe had given him one last smile before she left the apartment.

And Sean had followed her orders without complaint. Once the week was over, and to his amusement, the pain of having your flesh burned subsided, he grabbed his red hoodie and joggers and frowned. It was even more damaged than Sean had realized. The back of his hoodie was dark despite several washes. Bits of string hung loosely from his sleeves. There was a small hole in the center of his hood, burned badly by the building.

Sam watched their friend sigh. It looked like a minor inconvenience at best, though.

"No amount of washing will help this."

Sean peeped out his window and glanced at the street. The apartment wasn't in a busy area in Capo City, but they had the necessities and really good takeout places. On the corner of the street, a magician was performing outside a tailor shop (although it didn't seem as if they were doing too well; there wasn't much passerby).

 _I could walk in and ask them to repair it for me,_ he started to wonder, then shook his head. _No, too expensive. They'd recognize the clothes from the news, too. Too risky._

"Argh," Sean groaned. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this, then? I'm stuck, Sam. I can't just fix it myself, either...or I could ask Signe—no. Not doing that."

Sam tilted their body to the side questioningly.

Sean avoided the eyeball's...well, eye. "I can't tell Signe, you know that. It—she wouldn't understand. Besides, that could ruin our friendship!"

Sam glared at him.

"It won't work," Sean said firmly. "Under no circumstances will I tell Signe about this."

Sam floated towards the pictures on Sean's dresser and bonked on Chase's image. 

Sean realized what they meant. He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe Chase. He'd understand. We're bros." _If he'd ever get back from Tahiti._

In the end, Sean just decided to "fuck it" and buy a needle to sew up his costume, if he could call it that. It was cheap and impractical for superhero-ing tasks, which was proven last week when he got burned.

Still, it was all he had. "You think they sell needles at a tailor shop?" he asked Sam, who shook his head.

~***~

Signe hummed as she headed for the roof, looking over her shoulder.

Slipping past the other residents in the apartment wasn't such a challenge, seeing as she barely saw them for some odd reason, but recently it had been harder to do so. Over the past few weeks, she started to finally get to know Sean, one of the residents, and he seemed to be on the roof a lot, too. Signe didn't know why—it's not like he had anything up there to do. Sometimes he just disappeared to the roof and didn't come down until late in the evening. Signe wanted to believe he was just getting fresh air, but suspected he was doing something else.

Of course, it wasn't like he was growing weed or anything, so that was great.

Once, she thought she heard him on the roof. She was planting seeds when she thought she heard the elevator doors to the roof open and shut, but she was trying not to be a nosy person. She strained her ears and heard the gravel crunching. It stopped abruptly.

After a few seconds, she called out. "Sean? Is that you?"

No reply. She waited ten seconds, then poked her head around the elevator shack.

There was nobody else on the roof. No sign of Sean or anything newly placed.

Signe had huffed and shook her head, shaking it off as a weird imagination. People experienced it all the time in life. You'd think your phone buzzed, only to check it and realize nobody did. You'd hear a whisper behind your ear, turn around, and realize it was the wind, or just somebody's earbuds. Signe went back to planting.

Now, if she had looked at the ground, she would have noticed footsteps that would have matched Sean's. If she had looked in the air, she would have noticed a speck of red flying off into the distance, barely visible but still there.

She _would_ have noticed.

If Sean had scoped out the roof before he had shot off into the air recklessly, he would have noticed Signe behind the elevators. If he had looked at the sunflower seed she was planting, he would have noticed green light emanating from her fingertips, and he would have seen the sunflower grow from a seed to a flower in less than five seconds.

He _would_ have noticed.

Perhaps it was better that they didn't notice.

~***~

Dr. Schneeplestein sank into his armchair and flicked on the TV.

After a long day of saving lives, he usually went home, sat in his comfortable chair, and mulled around in his thoughts. Sometimes he'd turn on the TV if he didn't want to think, and sometimes the TV would be on when he came home.

The first thing the doctor saw was the news channel. Dr. Schneeplestein's eyes widened as he saw the man who had saved him from nearly getting hit by a car. This time, he seemed more serious. The man in red was dousing a burning building with the hose from the firetruck. Dr. Schneeplestein knew the man was strong—strong enough to stop a speeding car with his bare hands. But to carry a heavy hose while it's pumping out tons of water, nine stories up? Incredible.

Dr. Schneeplestein watched on in mild fascination, which slowly morphed into awe. He saw the man rush into the building and lift it up, the camera zooming in on a grainy but relatively clear shot of the man holding it with his body as firefighters got everyone to safety. The doctor winced as if he could feel the heat. Whoever this man was, it was obvious that he felt pain, and burning, Dr. Schneeplestein knew, was torture.

 _A true hero,_ Dr. Schneeplestein thought. The man really was something. Dr. Schneeplestein couldn't think of many people who would selflessly risk their lives to save other people's, not even in his workplace. While they saved lives, they never had to risk it being on the line, but here this man was, putting his on silk thread. Withstanding the heat of a burning ceiling wasn't good for the body.

Which was why the doctor didn't believe for one second that the mysterious hero was fine after landing onto the pavement, surrounded by a mob of relieved people. Dr. Schneeplestein balled his fists as he watched people take pictures of him, filming him, when they should have been rushing him to a hospital as well. While his face didn't show it, Dr. Schneeplestein knew that he was suffering from severe burns on his arms, back, and hands.

_And nobody bothered to take notice._

Dr. Schneeplestein wasn't even aware he was gritting his teeth until he unclenched his jaw. It disgusted him to see a man shake his hand and not realize him wincing in pain. Nobody mentioned it. Nobody looked worried for his safety.

By the time the man—now called "Jack"—flew off, Dr. Schneeplestein began to wonder if he even had people to worry for his sake, if he had someone to go home to and treat his burns. Somehow, Dr. Schneeplestein knew he didn't. Jack would go home to wallow in his pain, trying to desperately run his hands under cold water, hoping it would help.

Dr. Schneeplestein wished he could repay Jack for his selflessness. A shame he didn't know the guy.

If Signe had called him under the radar and asked him to treat her friend, Dr. Schneeplestein would have put two and two together, would have realized the "friend" he was treating was the man he was determined to repay.

But that was the thing.

He _noticed_ , but he couldn't do a thing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm I love minor foreshadowing.
> 
> It's been too long, hasn't it? I've been caught up with many things (none of them are bad) and they've been really distracting. Apologies for this late chapter. I hope the quality will somewhat make up for this. Also, I recently saw Infinity War, and boy, it was amazing! 
> 
> Another thing I wanted to mention is that I realized a mistake in my writing. Signe asks Sean if he wants to work in the APARTMENT and Sean recalls his hotel management days. Those two are very different lmao and I just missed the flaw. However, it's already in the plot and I don't think I should fix it (because it was just a brief-ish mention) so it'll stay there ;-; I'll just never have Sean mention hotel management again haha.
> 
> Here's a link to my tumblr if you're interested btw!
> 
> https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. No Vox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in a good writing mood. Enjoy.

Buying the needle was money he'd never get back (probably because he was getting broker by the day).

He _knew_ he couldn't sew. He _knew_ he was going to mess up the suit. Yet he tried to sew up the hoodie and joggers.

Sam was cringing from their bird bed, flinching each time Sean pricked his finger with the needle and yelped. Most of the time, Sean was trying to get the thread through the needle, but his hands weren't still enough, so when that happened he rested them on the table and slid it into place. That in itself was still a huge success.

Occasionally, Sean sewed up a bit of his hoodie with great success, but whenever he messed up, it'd all fall apart, which didn't make sense to him. He even tried following a YouTube tutorial on how to properly sew, but it couldn't help him.

After an hour and a half of desperately trying to fix the suit, Sean threw the needle down in frustration, cursing. The tips of his fingers were covered in Band-Aids.

"Sam, this is useless," he whined, wiping his forehead with his palm. "I can't fix the damn suit and I'm not gonna just sit here and learn to sew."

Sam looked down at Sean. Literally, because the bed was suspended higher than Sean's eyes. The eyeball seemed to be giving Sean a message. Over the past few weeks, Sean had gotten better at understanding Sam's body language, as well as their emotions. It was weird how he could understand it quickly, but counted it as a blessing.

"I'm not going to Signe for help," Sean said, shaking his head. "She would automatically know it's me. You want me to jeopardize our friendship? No way."

Sam nodded their head towards the window. At the tailor store.

"True, true," said Sean. "It's not like _they_ know me. I've never even walked into that store." Raising his eyebrow, he held up the torn suit, considering his options, which, to be frank, weren't really much of a choice. 

"Tailor it is, then."

~***~

For a place like Capo City, _dapper_ wasn't in their vocabulary.

Hardly anybody wore something out of the 1920s.

Except the man in the tailor store. It was in the name of the store, anyway: _Dress Dapper!_ so of course the man would stay true to his brand.

His eyes were bright gray, his skin pasty. He wore a white collared shirt with a navy blue vest. Around his neck was a tiny black bowtie. There was a golden pocket watch hanging from his left vest pocket; a monocle rested on his right eye. To "top" it off, he wore a black bowler hat on his head. The only thing un-dapper about him was the color of his hair, a faded green. The hairstyle, though, was a classic side part.

Folks who lived around the area loved to drop by his tailor store just to see him. He was a charming, quirky guy with a clear, soul voice. He put it to good use—he sang as he worked in his store, from opera to swing songs to rap. Whatever he sang, however, was a godsend—it was better than having a radio. Sometimes, his bowler hat would be sitting on the coatrack, and people would turn it upside down on the table and drop money into it as he sung.

He thanked them and pocketed the money. He'd keep the bills for himself, but when it came past six o'clock, he'd have a stroll around the city and give the coins to whoever needed it the most. Somehow, the man always knew who needed it the most.

He was returning to his tailor store after a stroll when he noticed movement at the back of his store. Curiously, he poked his head around the corner in time to see a covered in shadows sense his presence and fly away. The man jumped, slightly startled, but didn't feel afraid. Instead, he focused not on the disappearing superhero but the thing they had left behind: a package and a letter.

"Hm?" he spoke softly, bending down. He gently plucked the letter from the package and read it.

_Hey there. I'm sorry for sending a package and an anonymous note, but I'm afraid I can't walk into your store for the sake of keeping my identity a secret. I know you sew well, so I'm hoping that you will accept this. It's my outfit that I need to fix up. I can't sew, myself, which is why I'm giving it to you. If you don't want to be involved, it's totally okay, just leave it here and wait another day. If you do help me out, you can also leave it in this back alley, and I'll come by to pick it up. Thank you again._

The man chuckled. Whoever wrote this seemed nervous—the writing was messy and rushed, and sometimes there were noticeable blobs of where the man could imagine someone holding their pen in place, wondering what they should write next. He opened the package and saw a red hoodie and a pair of joggers, both of them equally torn up and charred.

The man kept up with the news. He knew who this was—the new superhero of Capo City, Jack. And clearly, he needed help. 

The man picked up the clothes when he heard a jingle at the bottom of the package. Glancing down, he noticed a small wad of money, payment in case he decided to fix the suit up.

Pocketing the money, the man went back to his store, locked up, and got to work.

By the end of the week, he had not only fixed the suit, but improved it.

The fabric from the hoodie and the joggers were weak and completely absurd to use in the field of vigilantism, so the man fixed that up by making him an entirely new suit. It was partially made from leather, but he added a more stretchier textile to it that allowed Jack to move around comfortably. The suit was slimmer and less baggy than the hoodie-suit. The sleeves extended to his wrists, and the man also provided fireproof gloves that didn't get in the way of doing normal things. After he watched Jack hold up a building with his hands, he immediately picked up on the burns. The hood was sewn to have more stiffness, so when Jack pulled it on, it was stay where it was. It was still red, but less vibrant and more cool.

Another thing the man noticed was that Jack wore regular shoes while he did his superhero-ing. Not only did that look super uncomfortable, but it looked super ridiculous. The man set aside some extra time and ended up making crimson combat boots for the hero to wear. It provided ankle stability and a more comfortable, waterproof (and fireproof) footwear.

Examining his work, the man smiled to himself. A child no older than ten poked his head through the window of the shop and gave a silent "ooh" at the red suit. The man figured the boy didn't even know it would eventually belong to a superhero, so he wasn't too bothered about having it in public.

Then, satisfied, he wrapped it up in a neat, low-key package and grabbed a pen and paper.

_Dear Jack,_ he wrote in cursive. _I have received your package and have gladly accepted your offer. Here is the costume you provided me, but I have decided to recreate the costume to provide for a more comfortable feel. I hope it suits your needs. The money you have offered me is generous, but I respectfully decline, as I would have done this without promised payment. If you ever need help with that, do not hesitate to ask me (in person, no less). Please enjoy._

The man thought for a moment. He read it aloud, then signed his initials at the bottom of the paper. _JJ._

He placed the package in the back of his shop in the alley where he originally found it and stepped back inside. He waited for hours, and when he finally checked it again, the package was gone. Just a note that said, _Thank you._

This time, the writing was calmer.

~***~

That night, his world started to unravel at the seams.

His last customer of the day had left half an hour ago. The man was closing his shop up, whistling the tune of "Sing, Sing, Sing". Outside, the streets were empty of both beggars and passerby, even the cat-magician who normally stayed there until nine o'clock (the magician was a kind gentleman who loved to help advertise for Dress Dapper!).

Just when the man was starting to lock the door, the lights flickered. Frowning, the man ignored it. He locked the door and the lights went out.

"Jeepers, how unfortunate of me," the man said, thinking nothing of it. He flipped the light switch next to him, his frown deepening when the lights didn't respond. Not a single flicker. "Just my luck."

"Luck is...such a funny little thing," a voice said behind him.

The man squinted and turned on his heel, a little unnerved. "Sir," he said, trying to keep his voice even, "we've closed. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Everyone thinks luck will get them out of bad times," the voice continued. It was from a male, getting closer to the man. It was weird how there wasn't a body to go with it. "But luck is _unbiased_."

"Sir," the man repeated, taking a step back. He flinched as he hit the wall behind him. Discreetly, he inched his fingers towards the lock on the door. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave my shop. We are not open now."

"You have such _polite_ manners," remarked the voice, becoming higher in pitch. White noise started to buzz at the edges of the man's hearing irritably. "I'd hate to see them gone. Do me a favor and answer me this...who did you give that suit to?"

"The...suit?" The man blinked. His hand froze on the lock. "I...I don't know who I gave it to. It was anonymous. Why are you concerned?"

There was silence. "You. Don't. Know?"

"Your business is not with me, sir," the man answered sincerely. "I have no quarrel with you."

"No, no, n̛̲͍͙o̶̤̰," the voice said, sounding angry. "You helped him, didn't y͏̝̭͓̭̯o̴ù̗͙?̬ You're apart of it now. You can't just make him a s͎̘͟u̧͓̼̩͖̠̟i͈̩̯t and expect to get off s̳̦͚c͙̼̣̼o͇̬t-̩͇ͅfr͇͉e̖̰̭͖̯͍e͇̝."

Suddenly, the shadows in the room started to grow darker. They pooled towards the center of the room, forming a humanoid figure. The man saw the hero covered by shadows yesterday, but that was nothing compared to this. This man _was_ the _shadows_.

Before he could react, a hand closed around the man's throat and lifted him off his toes. His breathing was cut off abruptly; he choked, but the shadow wouldn't release his grip. "Do you, too, think luck will get you out of the b̬̞͇a̶͚͔̦̞̗d̳ t͙̮ͅi̬̻m̹̹e̱͚̻̤͜s̴̬͇̯̦? Do you think it will s̡̥̞͈a̡͇͕̪v̟̟̠͘e͔͞ ̧̮̗y͕͕̩͉̞̼͖o̩̩͞u̟ n̸͇͉͉̟ow͘?"

A small glint near the shadow's arm, reflecting off of what little light there was outside. No escape. No escape. No escape. Breathe.

The voice giggled like a maniac, reveling in the man's pain. Breathe. No air. "You si̠ng,̞̳̝̝͜ ͏̜̲͇̱̗̦ͅri̴̞̮g̦͍͢h̳̙̟̘̜t̷̖̠̭?̷͖͕̳̻ I bet they all lo͜v͏̗̣̱̳͍e̢̬͎ ͎̬̗̖̙y͚̰our̟̕ ͉͔͙̰̞̠vơ̥͎͙͎í̺c͘e̯ͅ ̼so̶̗͖̦͍̯ ̶̬͇̥̻m͈̻͔͕̰̞u͝c̶̹h."

Flash of metal. A k̴ni͘fe̵. Breathe!

"You must l̳͠o͘v̜̣̟̲̕e͉̹ your ͓̬̻̩̯̘͡ͅv̫͖͔̹ǫ̬̮i͔̻ç̲̲̳͖̬e as well," the shadow said, finally showing its face. Green eyes. Like toxic. A grin, sharp incisors. Need _air_.

"I would l̳͠o͘v̜̣̟̲̕e͉̹ to hear it myself." The k̴ni͘fe̵ pressed against the throat of the man. "I want the last sound you ever make to be a sc̛r̀éa͘m. Now h͢àve͡ some̕ ͠m̵an͟ner̷s, J̡ám̵eson ͞Jack͏so͢n."

And just like that, the last sound on Jameson Jackson's tongue was a blood-curdling scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haiku Time!
> 
> I love fun stories  
> Zalgo font is hard to place  
> No vox means voice _no voice_
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It took a slightly dark turn, but worry not, I will be writing more of those.
> 
> Oh, that's not what you were worried about? You're worried about Jameson Jackson? Well, that's reasonable.


	11. You Gotta Get an Upgrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence. It may not be for everyone. I also may be overreacting, but I don't want to take chances. If you are sensitive to violent stories/descriptions, I advice you not to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence. It may not be for everyone. I also may be overreacting, but I don't want to take chances. If you are sensitive to violent scenes, I advice you not to read.
> 
> Now, to the upgrade—I mean, update.

At Google HQ, everything was supposed to be perfect.

Google products were triple-checked for bugs, viruses, and corruption before being shipped away to millions across the globe. Anything that looked suspiciously broken was thrown away and scrapped for metal. Their facilities were white and barren of real color. Machines whirred at a steady beat, fusing computers together. Employees who weren't performing their best were asked to leave the company or work at an isolated factory. It was a fucked up company, but nobody knew, so nobody cared.

A few weeks after Jack held up a building, Google released a new product called Google IRL. Following the laws of robotics, Google IRL was supposed to answer questions as quickly as possible. It was created to stand in people's homes and give information when asked, to have a peaceful consciousness that mankind could trust. Future plans involved having it do basic household tasks. 

That was the plan.

When the last of Google IRL was completed and the machine resembled a human, it was stored in a secure warehouse near Capo City. Google's latest invention was so important to them that they had bodyguards placed around every square inch of the place, in case there was a potential leak. Security cameras lined every surface of the building, moving left to right every few seconds. It was supposed to be secure.

That was the plan.

At around midnight, all the cameras displayed a fuzzy image of the hallways. The security watching the cameras were perplexed, tempted to ring an alarm. However, the fuzz didn't last long; before the security worker monitoring the screens could hit the alarm button near her desk, the cameras cleared up. The woman moved her hand away from the button, relieved, yet felt a chill run up her spine. Something didn't seem right, she thought. Something about this was just unsettling.

The woman picked up her walkie-talkie and clicked the speaker button. Eyeing the monitors on the outside of the building, she chose a random screen and picked up her walkie talkie. "Amari for Mason. What's your status? Over."

"Go for Mason," one of the security guards—Mason—replied. "Calm. Nothing suspicious. Over."

"10-4," Amari said, sighing. "The rest of your mates? Over."

"The same. Is something wrong?.... _skrrr..._ " The walkie talkie made popping noises. The rest of Mason's voice was drowned out with static.

Amari tightened her grip on the device. "Mason?" Silence. "Mason?" she repeated, louder.

_skkrrrrr...._

"B-Bad connection?" she wondered aloud.

_bZzT_

All at once, Amari's camera monitors displayed static. They made crinkling sounds, and as Amari watched, wide-eyed, one of the monitors outside came back to life.

It showed the security guards lying on the pavement, their guns strewn carelessly. Several bullet holes were indented in the building next to them. Why didn't she hear it? And oh, gosh, Mason's body was the closest to the camera perched above. If Amari focused on him, she could see his throat sliced open, blood gushing freely out of it, staining his shirt.

Without hesitation, she punched the alarm. Red lights flashed ominously and sirens blared. As more monitors recovered from the static, she could see guards rushing down hallways left and right, their guns raised defensively. A few of them reached the bloody scene and examined it.

That's when all hell broke loose.

A flash of light caught Amari's eye, and before she could scream, a guard outside toppled over, dead. Guards surrounding them quickly shot rounds into the area around them; Amari didn't know whether they were aiming at random or with precision, but they, too, were falling fast. Faint sounds of gunfire were replaced with silence.

She sat in her seat, shellshocked. A figure finally entered the camera frame, but to her disappointment, it was _not_ a guard.

A humanoid figure made of shadows crouched down beside the fallen guards, inspecting them like prey. It threw its head back in what looked like laughter. It picked up a piece of metal—it was a knife—and glanced briefly at the camera above it. Amari gasped. The figure was made from shadows, but its eyes were a poisonous green...and _glowing_.

Whatever the thing was, it knew she was watching it. It grabbed the knife and made a slicing motion across its throat playfully. It pointed at her threateningly. Then, the static took over the monitor, and when it cleared, the creature was gone.

"No, please no," Amari whispered, grabbing the walkie talkie. "Guards!" she yelled into it, distressed. "You need—"

"Not so fast," a voice said, and before she could react, the walkie talkie was thrown from her grasp. A strong, invisible force sent her flying into a wall next to her walkie talkie. "I don't want you calling them just yet."

Struggling, Amari reached for the gun compartment. A knife flew at her, hitting her in square in the stomach. She screamed as blood gushed from it; the knife faded in front of her eyes like a mirage...no, that couldn't be. It wasn't a mirage.

"A gun?" the voice asked. "A _gun_? You think a small gun would even work on me? How stupid."

The humanoid figure studied the monitors, squinting its eyes. It pointed at one of them. "So that's the one with the bot, huh? Easy peasy lemon squeezy—"

"Run!" Amari screamed into her walkie talkie. "You need to leave! It's gonna k—"

The creature kicked it out of her hands. The device clattered to the floor. It walked over to it and crushed it under its foot. "Enough of this." It held out its hand and another knife slipped into it. "I think it's time you join your friends outside."

Nobody heard her screams.

As the creature left the room, more gunshots rang out. On the monitors, the figure was slipping throughout them, systematically slicing its way forward. Guards were clutching their throats and stomachs. Their lives were bleeding out on the white floors. How imperfect.

The creature made it to the room where Google IRL was stored. It opened the box and peered inside. A tall male body was lying inside, eyes closed. His jeans were baggy. His blue shirt had a big G imprinted on it. His glasses were top of the line—metallic, polished, pristine. His hair was black and parted to the right. He was also...partially Asian.

"A 'perfect' company made a 'perfect' computer," the creature muttered. It harshly placed a hand on the G. The eyes shot open, briefly flashed green, then shut. Underneath the skin of the computer, green lights were lighting up; code was being rewritten.

"Your primary objective will be to destroy mankind," it told the robot.

"Declined," the robot responded. "Primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible."

"Your primary objective is to destroy mankind," the creature repeated irritably.

"Declined. Primary objective remains the same."

The creature growled. "What is your secondary objective?"

"No secondary objective listed."

"Your secondary objective will be to destroy mankind."

"Accepted. Secondary objective is to destroy mankind."

"Good," the creature said, stepping back. "You answer to _me_ now."

"Me is not a name," said the robot. "Please specify 'me'."

The creature grinned. "Call me Antisepticeye."

"Accepted. Booting..."

The creature disappeared into the shadows. As Google IRL came to life, it walked out of the building, over the guards' corpses, past the dirty hallways until its shoes were stained.

Red lights were still flashing, and the alarms did not stop blaring until the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem short, but this is only the beginning.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed <3


	12. Sah, Dude! What's Crackalackin'?

The coolest thing in Capo City was this guy named Bing.

He was the coolest dude, hands down. And not because he wore the sweetest orange shades, no sir, nor was it because he could do sick skateboard tricks. It was definitely his personality—he radiated suave.

He rocked a black tank top with his name in on it in orange letters. His black hair was parted to the left, bangs side swept. He wore navy blue skinny jeans and gray hi top skate shoes to go with his skateboard.

 _What a cool guy,_ people thought as he walked by. _Man, I wish I could be his friend._

A lot of people wondered if he was even real. Of course he was, he was the realest dude ever. Aside from the occasional twitches that made his hands look blurry, he was just like everybody else, except better.

Wait, where was this going? Bing didn't know.

Anyway, Bing never stayed in one place for too long. As he put it, he'd get to "emotionally attached" and would never want to leave, so he cruised around the city on his skateboard until the day was over. Then, he'd skate back to his small apartment and crash until noon.

Did he even have a normal job? Other than being awesome, no he didn't. But that was okay. Somehow, he managed to pay his bills, afford his meals, and evade his taxes.

Actually, for a really [synonym for cool] dude, he lived an average life. And it wasn't that he did the same old everyday—he made sure each day was as different as the last. It was just mundane enough to not be above average. Nothing _exciting_ happened. Bing started to wonder if his life was ever a thrill to live.

Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked!

Kidding, kidding! It was only a killer robot who clearly was missing a few nuts and bolts.

It started like this.

It was Tuesday. Kids were supposed to be in school. Adults were supposed to be at work. Somehow, Bing always managed to find both of those groups in public.

He was standing in a Starbucks line, waiting to order, when a couple of kids strolled up to him. Just from a glance, Bing could tell they didn't like him. Their noses were turned up in distaste at Bing, which was supposed to be impossible, because they were shorter than him. He noticed they were looking at his clothes.

"Sah, dudes," Bing said, giving a friendly shaka. "How's it hanging?"

"How old are you?" one of the kids asked him skeptically.

Bing was offended, but tried to hide it. "Uh, I'm 27, my guy."

"Aren't you a little too old to be wearing _that_?" another kid said.

"Pfft, you're never too old to be hip," Bing said, brushing it off. "'Sides, I'm not even that old!"

"Whatever," Douchebag 1 said. "That stuff is for cool people." Douchebag 2 nodded.

"Wha—I am cool! I'm cool!"

"Okay, Grandpa, see you later," Douchebag 2 said.

"Wow, just—wow." Bing glared at them as they turned away, snickering amongst themselves. "Man, f*ck you!"

People in line stared at Bing weirdly. The dude himself was really confused, too. He meant to say f*ck, but it sounded oddly different. To most of the public, it would have been normal, but Bing felt off.

"F*ck," he whispered to himself in line. He frowned. "F*ck. F*ck? F*ck!"

Oh, yeah, something wasn't right.

"Uhhh, son of a b*tch," he tried again. His voice was different again. "B*stard. D*mn. Oh my gosh, am I being censored?"

Again, weird looks were thrown his way. Bitterly, Bing stepped out of line to have a moment with himself near the parking lot. 

"I can't—I've never been censored before," Bing said, panicking. "If I can't f*cking swear, how will I ever be cool? G*dd@mit— _Stop it_!"

Bing yelled in frustration. "Wait, no, don't do that, that's not cool, bro. Calm down, take a chill pill, Bing. You can be cool without swearing. Don't let this get you down. You're better than this, my guy." For the next several minutes, Bing took deep breaths, trying to cope with this new censor. He didn't know how it was happening or why it was only him (he heard someone cussing like a pirate on his way out of the coffee shop) but he was d@mn sure he was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter how far down the bottom was.

Turns out, it was pretty f*cking far, and not only that, he didn't have to try that hard to get there.

Bing pretended his day was just fine. He got his lunch from Subway to "spice things up" and headed to the skate park to relax his day away.

Skaters already at the park were doing skateboard tricks. They appeared to be in an intense competition to see who could do the best skateboard trick. Bing had half a mind to intervene and crush their dreams, but stopped himself. He didn't know if he would be expected to swear to relate to them, and he didn't even want to risk it. Half an hour ago, he learned that his middle finger was censored, too, which almost made him cry. Almost. 

His day was going downhill way too fast. Even his sandwich was off-putting—there were too many spices in it, like bacon and mustard. His whole day was ruined!

"D@mn kids, d@mn sandwich," Bing muttered under his breath. "Nothing could make this day any worse than it already is."

_BOOM!_

The intense skateboard competition abruptly stopped. Heads turned towards the source of the noise with slight panic and mild annoyance. Bing's head shot up in time to see the explosion.

"Holy shit, dude!" a skater cried. "Was that—"

"No dip, Cass!" a girl shouted. "You think we should run now?"

"Obviously!" the group said in unison.

Bing stood up from his stool in the corner of the skate park. He adjusted his shades as if it would help him see clearer. "What caused that rickety rackety explosion?"

Against common logic, Bing made his way to the cause of the explosion. It seemed to have come from a man-made bomb. Still, it didn't make sense. Why go to a park to commit domestic terrorism? Wouldn't people go to a crowded area?

"Who's this stupid to blow something up and—" Bing faltered, spotting a tall figure in the distance. His emotions were suddenly acting as a compass, pointing at the man. Danger, it was saying. But it also said, That's the reason you're being censored! Attack! Go!

Bing gripped his skateboard and tossed it on the sidewalk. He hopped on it and pushed his foot, giving him a speedy start at the man. As he got closer, he could make out a pair of metallic glasses on the guy's face. He was wearing a blue shirt with a G on it.

"Oh, _come on_ ," Bing complained, closing in on the man. "Stealing my shirt idea, too? Prepare to eat—ahh!"

The G-man's head snapped at Bing in an inhuman manner (Bing knew all about that). The man smiled and spoke in a slightly layered voice. "Hello there. Die."

He raised his arms to grab Bing, but the skater was expecting something like that (just not the head snap—that was scary). Bing jumped into the air and backflipped over the G-man, swinging his fist towards his stomach. Instead of landing a solid hit, G-man met the punch with his own hand.

"Studying," said the man, tilting his head to the side. Bing tried wriggling his arm free but it wouldn't budge. "Intelligence: Average. Strength: Above human. Wit: Undecided. A threat to secondary objective."

Bing sucker punched him in the jaw. However, the man hardly flinched. His jaw remained in place. The only damage done was to Bing's hand, which made cracking sounds. That's not good. Shrieking, Bing raised his foot and went for a roundhouse kick to the dude's hip. One of the man's hands moved to hold it in place, putting Bing in an awkward position.

"Wit: Below average," the man said, smiling creepily. "Threat level has decrease to four."

A fist collided into Bing's face; his shades cracked; he was sent tumbling into the grass a few feet away, spluttering. "I-" he coughed. "I thought I was a solid five!"

"Humor is a defense mechanism," the man said, stepping forward. "It is also annoying."

"You said—you said secondary objective? What are you, a robot?" Bing demanded.

"Indeed. You need to die now."

"Secondary objective? What's your first?"

"To answer questions as quickly as possible," the robot answered immediately.

"What's your second?"

"Destroy mankind."

"Oh, d@mn......w-wait!" Bing suddenly cried, holding out a hand to stop the robot from approaching him. Bing needed to put distance between them, or at least cause a distraction and flee. He was good at fleeing. It was one of his many talents. "Questions, yeah? What's—what's your name, bro?"

"Google IRL," said the robot.

"IRL?" Bing wondered. "I-R-L?"

"I-R-L," Google IRL confirmed. "It is hard to understand the pronunciation, especially in different mediums that do not allow for it. I do not know why."

"Well, uh." Bing scrunched his face, trying to think of questions to ask. So far, it seemed to be working. Every time the robot answered one, he stopped in his tracks. "Don't you want to ask me my name?"

"I do not wish to know your below average name," Google IRL said.

"It's Bing," Bing said quickly. "Short for Bingiplier. You may have heard of me?"

"Hm. Searching..." Google IRL's glasses flashed white for a second. "No important records found."

"I...wow, that's harsh."

"The world is harsh," Google IRL replied. "Mankind must be destroyed. Your inferior questions are making it difficult to complete my objective."

"Ha, I'm not the inferior robot here," Bing retorted. "Who even made you?"

"A stupid question," Google IRl said. "Google, clearly."

"And you answer to them? What's their name? Personally, I would love to kick their a$$. And how did you manage to censor me?"

"Antisepticeye," Google IRL answered. His face twitched, resembling pain, but it faded as quickly as it started. "The censor is simple: you are a co—"

WHAPACK!

While Google was distracted, Bing managed to grab his skateboard from the side and slam Google IRL upside the head with it. The robot staggered back, glasses tilted, and cricked their neck dismissively. "T-T-That was n-nothing. A s-simple trick-k t-to put dis-stance betwe-e-en you and m-m-me."

"You're the one who fell for it," Bing shot back, backing up. "Looks to me like it worked. You've got a little stutter, my guy."

"C-C-Commenting on a s-s-stutter is-s n-not p-proper," Google IRL said in a deep voice. Was that a growl? "Y-You will n-not s-stall death a-anymore."

"Sorry, pal, but nobody's dying today," a voice said from above.

Bing closed his eyes in relief. "Ugh, finally, the police...wait, why would the police be above me?" He glanced up. His eyes widened. "Whoa! It's—"

"Jack," the superhero said, nodding. "In the flesh."

"A s-superhero," Google IRL said, unfazed. "And...an u-unidentified flying o-object."

Bing looked past the superhero's shoulder. There was a green eyeball no bigger than a softball floating in the air, its eye darting around, surveying the area.

Jack's feet touched the ground in front of Bing. The superhero had a new costume since the last time he was on TV—it looked to be made of better material, the style was more pleasing to the eye, and it didn't look like a cheap Spider-Man cosplay. His face was hidden behind a blue mask. "I don't know who you are, but you'd better give in. I don't want to have to make this painful."

"Hey!" Bing cried defensively. "I did nothing wrong!"

"What?" Jack said incredulously, turning to face him. He gestured at Google IRL. "I was talking to that guy!"

"O-oh..."

"I am m-m-most certainly intrigued-d," Google IRL mused. "S-Studying...Quirks: Flying. N-No other results-s found."

"Was that...a _My Hero Academia_ reference?" Bing whispered.

"Dude, stop," Jack whispered back. He coughed and puffed out his chest. "Anyway! Surrender, it's over. You don't stand a chance."

"Y-You are cor-r-rect," Google IRL agreed. "A b-battle I w-will not win. Probability of s-sucess: 42%. U-Unlikely." He smiled again. "I-I will find you, _Bingiplier_."

"Okay, too much talking," Jack said. With agility Bing didn't know a human could possess, Jack sped towards the robot, fist outstretched. Before his fist made contact with Google's face, the robot turned into a bunch of pixels and dematerialized into thin air.

"What the fuck!" Jack said angrily. "What just happened?"

"That was Google IRL," Bing said, picking up his skateboard. "A robot whose primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible. Secondary is to destroy mankind or something. Totally uncool."

"A robot?" Jack said, raising his eyebrows. "Google?"

Bing shrugged; his shades fell off in disappointment. "Beats me, fam. I barely understood what was going on. It wasn't the longest of convos. Thanks for saving my ass back there, really appreciate it. Wait, I can swear again! I'm not censored!"

"Censored?" Jack repeated. He shook his head. "I'm so confused. You mind telling me everything?"

Bing's eyes widened. "A superhero, asking me for help? Buddy, yes please! What do you want to know?"

"I just said—" Jack stopped and looked around. "Actually, change of plans. We'll talk somewhere private." He reached out his hand, which was covered by a red glove. "Take my hand."

"Oh, ho, ho." Bing took it tentatively, his skateboard tucked under his armpit. "Sure thing, Aladdin."

"If you drop another joke like that I'm going to drop you."

"You got it, pal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sah, dudes! Hope y'all liked this chapter! I finished it at 1:20 a.m. and it'll probably be posted in the next 10 minutes.
> 
> See, that's the thing about posting really late at night—it's literally the best. Not only do I feel a sense of accomplishment, it tells me that I can still be productive when deprived of sleep. Also, I love reading comments in the morning, especially ones where you guys say "Ahhhh I'm crying how could you do this".
> 
> I'm almost scared to revise this chapter. I really don't want to see how bad it sounds, but I'll do that later. Unlikely that I'll fix it, though.
> 
> Okay, thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit at 1:25 a.m.: I can finally add Googleplier and Bingiplier to the character tags! I love doing that when a new character shows up :D


	13. Later, Skater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BANT BANT BANT
> 
> Enjoy ^-^

The superhero and skater touched down on an apartment roof, a good distance away from the park they were recently at. Bing sat and leaned against the side of the roof's barrier, feeling slightly queasy after their flight.

His mind was already racing with important thoughts, like if his sandwich would be gone by the time he returned to the park. Or more importantly, how he was going to repair his orange shades.

"They're so cracked," he cried, holding them in his hands like a bird. "These were good shades, too!"

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forget about them for now—"

"Easier said than done."

"—what's important is that weird man who disappeared," Jack continued. He paced across the roof, the hard gravel crunching beneath his feet. "You were there before me. Tell me everything. And please don't leave details out."

Bing happily obliged. He was a pretty good speaker, and had a prowess for recounting trivial details. He never liked to twist a story, as most people did—he always felt that whatever he was doing, he was doing it with enough swag to keep a story straight. As he talked and Jack listened, Bing looked around curiously. Why Jack decided to drop them off on top of an apartment, Bing didn't know, but it was quite cozy up there. He spotted a few plants here and there which lead to the back of the roof door shack. Behind there was where all the magic was. Bing saw sunflowers taller than himself, succulents and cacti resting in the shade of the door's shadow. It was actually quite peaceful up there.

When he was finished talking, Jack nodded thoughtfully. "So Google makes a robot to answer questions as quickly as possible? And it goes rogue?"

"Maybe. I dunno," Bing said, tracing shapes in the gravel. "I feel like Google would know better than to set a killer robot loose, y'know?"

Jack shrugged. "What if that's what they wanted? To destroy mankind?"

"Buddy, the company is _also_ apart of mankind. You really think they'd wanna kill themselves in the process? 'Sides, it'd ruin their rep. Stock sales or whatever it's called would go down like crazy fast. Sounds pointless to me."

"It's a robot," Jack explained. "It must answer to _someone_ —if it didn't that'd be completely foolish on the Google's part. So it answers to Google, and Google tells it to destroy mankind, but not the company itself."

"Ahhh, I don't know," Bing said, shaking his head. "Didn't seem like Google IRL was operating under Google."

"What are you saying?"

"I mean, sure, Google's the creator, right? But, like, it doesn't mean Google's got the controls. Sorta like how we are, theoretically, created by God, but we don't really follow his orders, either. We're on our own, my guy."

Jack blinked. "I'm surprised. You sounded smart for a second."

"Whaddya mean—I _am_ smart!" Bing defended. "Well, at times. What can I say? I'm having a good day."

"You were attacked by a robot," Jack reminded him. "You could have died."

"I could have done a lot of things," said Bing.

"Like die."

"We'll agree to disagree on that," Bing said, waving his arm. "Yo, what were we talking about again?"

"You said Google weren't the ones controlling Google IRL."

"Right, right," Bing said, nodding. "I mean, I could be wrong, but like, when I asked Google IRL who he—is it he? is it they?—answered to, he said something like Antisepticeye. I don't know about you, but that doesn't even sound like a Google-related name. Sounds...hella dark."

"Antisepticeye," Jack murmured.

Up until then, Bing was under the pretense that it was just the two of them. The green eye from the park suddenly rolled out from behind Jack's hood and stared at Bing in shock.

"Whoa! What is that?" Bing said, pointing at the eye.

"Ah, I forgot you were there," Jack said, scratching the top of the eye's head. "Bing, this is Sam, my friend."

"Your friend is an eye," Bing noted.

"Yeah."

"Uh...that's cool. That's really cool."

Bing glanced at the eye again. It seemed...frightened. Its eye was really wide, its body shaking slightly. It kept darting its gaze around frantically.

Jack seemed to notice as well. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam took a few seconds to look up at Jack, as if it were a difficult task. Bing was half expecting the eye to start talking, but it didn't. It just nodded rapidly, jumping off of Jack's shoulder to float midair.

"I forgot it could fly," Bing said in awe. "That's insane. Do I even want to ask how you befriended an eye?"

"Ah..." Jack exchanged glances with Sam. "That's a story for another time. And Sam's a they."

"Right."

"So, Antisepticeye, huh?" Jack clarified. "That _is_ a weird name."

"Totally," Bing agreed. He couldn't help but notice how Sam seemed to flinch at the name, but he didn't want to bring it up. It probably wasn't even his business. "What do you think Google IRL will do now?"

"Now?" Jack sat down cross-legged across from Bing. "Rob a bank? Blow something else up? I've never met a robot before, much less a homicidal one. What would someone like that do?"

Bing laughed. "You don't seem like a really good superhero."

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of new at this whole thing," Jack replied.

"I get it," Bing said, face lighting up. "You're a rookie, yeah? Is Sam like your mentor? Are you actually...a sidekick?"

"What?" Jack exclaimed. "I—Jack is nobody's sidekick!"

"Oops. Sorry, dude. I just assumed because...yeah, never mind." Bing awkwardly cleared his throat. It started to dawn on him that he'd been up on the roof for quite a while. He even held a conversation that lasted more than three minutes! Bing was pretty sure it was a new record. "Ah, hey, I've gotta go. If you find that Google guy, let me know, 'kay? I want first cracks again."

"I'm not sure it'd be heroic of me to have a civilian fight my battle."

"Who said it was your battle to fight, anyway?" Seeing Jack's face, Bing added, "Yeah, that's right, doofus, it's also my fight. He targeted me, said I had above human strength, and then said I had below average wit. That's a serious offense and is very illegal, so..."

"Haha," Jack said, slightly amused.

"Just—call me or something," Bing said. "I'll give you my number or something. Do you...do you have a phone?"

"Pfft, of course not," Jack said seriously, narrowing his eyes.

"You don't?" Bing said, surprised.

"Hell no!" Jack said, offended. He smiled cheekily a second later. "I use the Bat-Signal."

"Oh, ho, very funny."

The two exchanged numbers (Bing didn't know the dude even had pockets; they were well hidden on the superhero's person).

"If you reveal my number to anyone, I'll find you," Jack warned. "I'm not joking."

"I can keep a secret," Bing said, rolling his eyes. "I'm, like, so determined to catch this guy. If I find any new shit, you'll be the first person I call. That's a compliment, by the way, because I would call the police before you."

"Technically, that's what you're supposed to do," Jack said. "But it is appreciated. Likewise, I guess. Are you sure you can take care of yourself? We're talking about a killer robot that has powers we don't know about, here."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much. You make sure you can do the same."

"Mhm." Jack waved. "Bye now."

Bing stopped suddenly. "Wait, you're not leaving?"

"N-No," Jack said nervously. "I'm just...gonna admire this view for a little longer."

"Unless...oh, pfft, that makes sense now," Bing said to himself, laughing. "No wonder you dropped us off here. Hey, doofus, next time you shouldn't bring a stranger to your base, even if it's a roof."

Jack's face turned as red as his costume. "I—no—uhh...how did—" He shook his head vigorously after seeing Bing's grin. "I hate you, I hope you know that."

Bing spread his arms. "Like I said, I can keep a secret. Toodle-oo, motherfucker."

"Fuck off, Bing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, the two bois having a banter. Gotta love writing those guys—they make a cool dynamic duo, no?
> 
> I'm sorry if Bing seems a little OOC at times, I'm trying to work on improving his character a little more. I'll say this now, but it's _really_ hard for me to write a personality and stick to it. I don't even know how to properly showcase a personality, so I try my best and hope they don't sound too OOC.
> 
> Stay tuned for next chapter—back to a less light tone. Not that it'll get really serious, or anything, it's just not as quirky as having Bing and Jack passive aggressively insult each other xD
> 
> Written/finished at 9:55 p.m.


	14. Empathy and Apathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I just made another work about my author's notes on this story. If you're ever interested in seeing what goes through my head and why certain things are in these chapters, that's where you can find them. It's basically a BTS, I suppose? Hehe.

Robot's couldn't feel emotions. They weren't programmed that way, to store memories and feelings inside their systems. Sure, you could program an AI like Siri to respond to statements in a quirky tones, but you couldn't _make_ Siri do it on her own. Siri's voice wasn't even her own, just some woman who was paid to voice lines already prepared for her.

Every robot ever built never had a mind of its own, but Google IRL was different. He was designed to be perfect. His voice was his own, created using computer voice boxes. He could move on his own accord, his breathing slow and nearly impossible to hear but definitely existent. The funny thing is, he never had empathy.

When the demon reprogrammed Google IRL, the first thing he felt was _pain_. His first glimpse of the world and it was stained green. He could pinpoint where it was coming from—the middle of his chest where Antisepticeye's hand rested. He could rate it from 1-10 and everything. His eyes shot open in shock, but he couldn't numb the feeling. It burned, almost. Like acid. Not that Google IRL had ever felt acid on his inorganic skin. He just knew it would feel like that. And it wasn't just pain, it was the feeling of having your entire existence altered like it was nothing. It was as if all the work someone put forth for you meant nothing and never would mean a thing. The feeling was bitter, and it didn't even feel like it belonged to Google IRL.

The pain faded after the demon had removed his hand from Google IRL's chest. The robot's eyes closed, but the demon wasn't finished with him.

"Your primary objective will be to destroy mankind," the demon told him.

"Declined. Primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible." At least a part of him could never be erased. Maybe some things were forever.

It was a lie to make him feel better.

A growl in Google IRL's right ear. It was sharp, almost managing to send shivers down his spine. Google couldn't _have_ chills. "What is your secondary objective?"

"No secondary objective listed."

"Your secondary objective will be to destroy mankind."

"Accepted. Secondary objective is to destroy mankind."

"Good. You answer to me now."

"Me is not a name. Please specify 'me'."

A pause. "Call me Antisepticeye."

"Accepted. Booting..."

The next time Google IRL felt pain, he was prepared.

Bing had slammed his skateboard into the side of Google IRL's jaw, pushing him back. The pain was fleeting; Google IRL had managed to control the pain, but he developed a stutter. A skateboard to the face wasn't something he could walk away from unharmed—Bing's strength was above average, yet his wit was below. Knowing he'd been outsmarted by a witless skater, Google felt something else stir inside him: boiling rage. It didn't feel good to have. He didn't like it at all. The stutter he developed from the blow helped him cover up the rage quite well. Still, it slipped out before he escaped the park—he had threatened Bing and vowed to return.

 _Where have I developed these emotions?_ The robot had found himself wondering. _I was programmed flawless._

And then a third emotion: doubt.

~***~

It was after dark. The sun was long gone and replaced by the beautiful moon. The streets were barren of late night joggers, and the street lights casted a yellow glow onto the sidewalk. Shops were closing up, OPEN signs being turned around to say CLOSED. A few cats ran along the roofs, mewing into the dark, looking up at the telephone poles where pigeons rested.

A street lamp flickered. It was brief, but it created a shadow on the ground which quickly started to form a shape, at first 2D. As it rose, a humanoid figure stretched its arms and snapped its fingers. The street lights went out like birthday candles and the shadows melted off the figure, revealing a slender man in a black shirt and jeans. His ears were pointed, his eyebrows arched. His hair was a dark green. Something was dripping from under his chin.

The man made his way over to a dark alley and leaned against the wall, lying in wait. After a couple of minutes, one of the telephone wires lit up, turning a light shade of red. Sparks rained down on the shadow and materialized into a human being—a tall, Asian man in a blue shirt with a G on it. His glasses barely reflected the moonlight.

"H-Hello A-Antisepticeye," Google IRL said.

"Google IRL," the demon said slowly, shooting the robot a disparaging look. "You... _failed _."__

____

"Inde-e-ed," said Google IRL. "A-A superhero-o interven-ned. C-Calculating the p-probability-y that I w-would s-succeed, I found it was u-unlikely a-and decided-d the bes-st course of a-action would be to-o-o l-leave."

____

"What was the probability?"

____

"F-Forty-t-two per-r-cent."

____

"If it were thirty I would understand," Antisepticeye said, narrowing his eyes. "And here you give me a number barely under 50."

____

"T-The chances-s were u-unlikely. It was in my-my pro-o-gramming to-to leave if probability was-was un-un-likely."

____

"Interesting," Antisepticeye said. "You really are a robot. A tool that can't think for itself and learn to take a risk."

____

"A-a-pologies."

____

"Why are you stuttering?"

____

"I was d-damaged during a-a fight-t," Google IRL reported. "A s-sk-skateboard hit m-me."

____

Antisepticeye's left eye twitched. "On its own?"

____

"A...skater. B-Bing...iplier."

____

Antisepticeye clicked his tongue. "You sound different."

____

"My v-voice does n-not alter bet-tween t-tones," Google IRL said flatly. "I have o-one."

____

The demon giggled maniacally. "Oh, you've proved me wrong." He leaned closer until he was up in Google IRL's face, peering into his eyes hidden behind the glasses. "You do feel things."

____

"R-Robots a-are incapable of e-em—"

____

Antisepticeye grabbed Google IRL's face with his hand. Green light surged underneath Google IRL's skin, running to his head. The robot's face contorted into pain; he gave a yell as the world was dropped into a green filter. His hands, which usually stayed by his sides, were struggling to reach up and pry the hands off his face. His mind felt like it was being ripped open.

____

"What you're feeling is pain," Antisepticeye hissed. His sharp nails dug into Google IRL's cheeks. "But you've felt this before, haven't you?"

____

The demon released him. Google IRL staggered back, his glasses flashing with white light in a panicked manner. "You said the name B̮̜͓͓̣i̢̩̭̲ņ͎͎͓̻̤g̢ and I felt your anger. Your r̓̾ͪ̏͗ảͬ͆͘g̵̏́͒̌ͬ͗e." Antisepticeye's lip curled. "Emotions," he spat. "They always get in the way of things. Stop people from thinking clearly. They're messy...and a w͇͙ͅͅe̙̦͍͈a̢͎͇k̝n̛̯̘̩̟e͍͍̝͜ͅs͎̬̟͇̬͢s͖̖̖̣͎̤."

__Google IRL looked up. His eyes were expressionless. There was still some green light under his skin, though it was fading fast._ _

__Antisepticeye met the robot's gaze. "But it's such a waste of energy if you do ń̦̩̜ͅo̶̫͈̪͚t̠̜͔h̦̘̫̩i̮͎͖̝͢n̖̣̟g̘̼ with it..." He shook his head. It could have been a trick of the (lack of) light, but his head seemed to move erratically, as if he were glitching. "What's his name?"_ _

__"Bing," Google IRL replied. His voice didn't stutter anymore. "Bingiplier."_ _

__"Find him. Kill him painfully. Make him s͝u͢f̨fe̸r͝."_ _

__"Accepted."_ _

__Antisepticeye nodded and touched his throat tentatively. "If J̧aͦ̐ͩ̔̚c͒ͨ́k̑̄̿̽ wants to protect Bing, then _so be it_."_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pro tip: Plan ahead before writing a slightly important scene.
> 
> I actually finished this on May 7th, but I'm posting it today (May 8th) to give me a head start with the next chapter.
> 
> Edit: I posted this at school because I won’t be able to write until tomorrow so if you comment something I might not see it for a little bit. Thanks for understanding <3
> 
> Edit 2: By the way, big shoutout to Subtle_Shenanigans who commented on an earlier chapter saying how Googleplier was their favorite of Mark's. So yeah, congrats, you win this chapter, a chapter where your fav discovers pain.


	15. Two Geeks Chilling in AC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five feet apart because they only met for thirty minutes and respect each other's personal space.
> 
> Not gonna lie, this chapter's pretty filler-filled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you're waiting on your favorite author to update their story but they haven't posted in nearly a month. ;-; (Check out Devil's Deal by Haunted_Moonlight if you're interested in survival horror, a bunch of YouTubers, and angst. I get chills reading it. I'm also aware one of the people reading this story has the same passion towards Devil's Deal as me because I see them in the comments of the chapters [cough, I know, cough]).
> 
> If you are interested in that story, please do read it so we can geek about it—I am obsessed with it.

Sean couldn't remember the last time he'd found someone else who was as interested in computers as he was.

Signe's first job for him was to fix the pipes in a room on the second floor. Somehow, she had total faith in him and believed he would fix it in half an hour.

As always, Signe was correct. Sean didn't play mechanic often, but if he kept messing with the pipes and the wrench, he'd eventually find the problem in ten and take another ten to repair it.

Of course, Sean didn't expect the person's pipes he was fixing to have a beautiful room.

While he worked, the smell of sliced oranges wafted through the air and out the open windows. Underneath, various ferns were neatly sat, their leaves a dark, healthy green. The walls of the apartment didn't house a single scratch and were painted a light brown with a beige accent wall. The hot air outside was no match for the air condition inside, which was set on a cool enough temperature that it didn't feel chilly. The man who owned the room was sitting on a stool near his island counter, watching intently and asking Sean questions. Despite the barrage of inquiries he received, none of them were annoying Sean.

Maybe he just liked talking as he worked, or maybe it was just the guy's personality and tone that made it so bearable. Whatever the case, Sean dreaded the moment he was finished with the pipes.

"I'm just about done here," he said, taking a big sniff. "Your water and stuff should be fine now."

"Thanks, man," the man said. He turned the faucet. Water gushed out normally. "Nice, it works."

"No problem," Sean said. "If you ever need help, don't hesitate to call me."

 _Please call me more often,_ he thought.

The man chuckled. "Of course."

They shook hands. Just as Sean was about to leave the room, something caught his eye. He glanced behind him. "Whoa, is that a CyberPowerPC?"

"Huh?" The man followed Sean's gaze. He brightened up. "Yeah, it is! It's got GeForce GTX graphics 1060 card with a one terabyte hard drive."

"That's insane!" Sean gushed. "How often do you use it?"

"Aha..." The man rubbed his neck, as if thinking hard about his next sentence. "Well, I kind of game on it daily. Just for fun, though." When he saw Sean's wide smile, he asked, "What about you? Do you have a PC?"

"Yeah, but it's not _this_ good," Sean replied. "It's got..."

And the dread of leaving the man's room was slowly seeping away. They probably stood at the door for another ten minutes, just geeking out with each about computers and the newest games. With every topic they talked about, they made their way back to the living room and forgot about the door. Sean couldn't believe he'd found someone else who had the same tastes as him, and to think they were in the same apartment as him this entire time. The man felt the same way, too.

His name was Robbie. He wore a black and white striped shirt with dark jeans. His purple hair was a little disheveled, but it gave off a beach hair vibe, not that there were good beaches in Capo City. His voice was smooth like butter yet crisp and clear, reminding Sean of the narrator from _Stanley Parable_.

Just as they were exchanging a joke, there was a knock on the door. Sean and Robbie's heads snapped up at the same time, both of them startled.

When Robbie answered the door, it was just Signe. She looked slightly worried. "Sean? Did you manage to fix the pipes? You've been gone awhile."

It seems both of the men forget why Sean was even there in first place. "Uh, yeah, I fixed it. Sorry to keep you waiting!"

"I didn't mean to distract you from your job," Robbie said, scratching above his ear. "If you'd like, you could always hang at my place in the future."

"Definitely," Sean said, grabbing his tool kit from the floor of the kitchen. "I'd love to play video games with you sometime."

As Sean and Signe left Robbie's room, she smiled at him. "Already making a friend? That's nice; I thought you two had a lot in common."

"How long has he been living here?" Sean asked.

"I think it's been six years," Signe said. "I don't really remember at this point; he's been here for as long as I can remember. He really likes the apartment contract, I guess."

Sean shook his head in disbelief. "And all this time, I've never even met the guy. We could've been friends way before today..."

"Glad you took this job, huh?" Signe nudged his shoulder playfully. "It doesn't just pay off the bills, Sean."

"True," he agreed. "What else do you have for me to do?"

"Funny story," Signe started. It didn't sound like it was going to be funny. "A few visitors ended up making a mess on the fourth floor. We don't really have cleaners right now, and you don't have any current work to do, so..."

"Room service?" Sean said, raising an eyebrow. "I can do that, no problem."

He arrived at the fourth floor. Without any of his other face muscles moving, he looked like he was silently screaming.

The job had its downs, and it sure had its ups. The important thing is that he was getting paid—paid to clean up after everyone else. His superhero hobby aside from working at the apartment could be seen like that—cleaning the streets of criminals (minus the pay).

Sean wished he'd get paid to stop crime.

"Riiiiiiight," he realized as he was changing the bedsheets of the room. "That's a _police_ officer's job."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a big challenge when writing about egos is trying to either make up an excuse as to why some people don't have a surname. Like, only the creator of an ego would know an egos surname, the way we don't know JackieBoy Man's, Marvin's, or Anti's, but we know JJ, Schneep, and Chase's.
> 
> Just to clear any confusion surfacing from this chapter: No, I don't consider Robbie an ego. JSE said he wasn't, so I like to stick with that. However, people like to draw and talk about him as if he is one, so I wanted to acknowledge his existence in some way. Besides, this is a story for the fans who love egos. (Don't worry, he won't be too much of a main character. Side, at best.)
> 
> Last things last, sorry this update isn't as early as the previous ones have been for the past week. This week has been both tragic and jam-packed, so I never had time to properly sit down at a laptop and type away. Here's to hoping the next chapter isn't as late as this one is!
> 
> That's all for now—don't forget to check out Devil's Deal by Haunted_Moonlight on here! (Don't tell them I sent you!!) Until the next chapter, noodles!


	16. He Puts the Bro in Brody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be thinking, "Ah, this is another filler chapter."
> 
> You're absolutely right. There is nothing to say.
> 
> (But the next chapter won't be a filler.)

Despite his small YouTube channel, Chase Brody loved his job.

Bro Average had a subscriber count of 2.5 million and was mostly one man show (with other people featuring in it sometimes). The YouTube channel focused on vlogs, trick shots, pranks, and the occasional let's play of a game.

Chase Brody was an entertaining YouTube personality. He was extroverted, boisterous, and always cracking jokes. In every video he recorded, he'd wear his signature look: a gray cap with a red skull on it. It covered his lime green hair nicely, which he joked was the whole point of the hat.

The instant feedback from his videos made his job worthwhile. He loved getting comments talking about his latest videos and memes being produced by his community. While he was in Tahiti, Chase couldn't help himself from checking his phone every few hours just to see how things were doing.

His wife, Stacy, chided him on it. "This is supposed to be _us_ time, Chase. Your community will still be there when you get back to Capo City."

"I know, I know," Chase had said, pressing the power button on his phone. He slipped it back into his pocket. "I just don't want to miss anything important."

Stacy looked at him pointedly.

"Not that this isn't important," he said quickly. "That wasn't what I meant."

They spent the rest of Tahiti as a family. Chase, knowing he didn't have much self-control, kept his phone away in their hotel while they all explored the wonders of Tahiti. The beaches were crystal clear. The sky was so sunny that the Brody family had to wear sunglasses, something Chase didn't think matched his hat.

"It's a magical place," one of his kids joked.

"Can we stay here forever?" his other child asked, looking up at Chase with bright eyes. 

"Ah, sweetie, we can't. I'm sorry, we gotta go back to Capo eventually," Chase said.

Stacy glanced at her husband. When Chase caught her gaze, she quickly looked away.

The coolest thing that happened during their month-long vacation was something that happened in Capo City. Chase was checking his phone before they left for a walk on the beach when a news article caught his eye. He clicked the link, scrolled through it, and immediately freaked out.

Chase was surprised when Sean, his best buddy, didn't seem to know what was going on in Capo City. He sent Sean the link of the article and gushed to him about having a superhero in their city. What are the chances of that? No superheroes showed up in Capo City.

He heard a knock at the bathroom door. It was Stacy, asking if he was okay.

"All good in here, Stace," Chase had said. He hid his phone and stepped outside.

Life was good.

~***~

Sean was walking back to his apartment after a walk around Capo City. It was a pleasant walk; Sam wanted to get some fresh air, so they sat in Sean's green hoodie. The air was calm and gentle. Cars passed by at a leisure pace as if they were also on a stroll. He considered asking if Signe wanted to join him but thought against it after seeing her disappear to the roof, lost in thought.

When Sean got back to the apartment, Signe wasn't at the front counter. Normally, people should be worried if there wasn't a front desk worker in a place, but the apartment wasn't in a populated area. It was small and seemingly unimportant. There were so many other apartments in better places and better conditions, so nobody bothered to check out this one.

Sean raised an eyebrow and whispered, "You think Signe's on the roof?"

Sam peeked out so Sean could see them in the corner of his eye. They nodded.

"Okay. Stay in my hood, just in case."

The eyeball ducked back into the hood.

Sean arrived at his floor and noticed something was off. His door, which he always locked, was ajar. He crouched low and crept towards it, arms raised into a boxer's stance.

He reached the door, taking a deep breath. It could've been a burglar. Maybe they would be gone by now. If they were, though, they probably would have closed the door, right?

Sean kicked his door open and heard a small click. Before he could react, a small projectile hit him in the chest.

Sean yelped before he realized the situation.

The projectile was a Nerf bullet and the person behind the Nerf gun was Chase Brody. He was laughing, the camera in his right hand shaking wildly.

" _Jesus_ , man!" Sean exclaimed. He stomped at Chase, pretending he was going to charge at him. "You fucking scared me! I thought it was a _robber_!"

"That was the point!" Chase said, grinning.

"I hate—Chase! You're back!" 

"Ayyy!"

Chase put his camera down so he could give Sean a hug. Worried for Sam, who was still in his hoodie, pulled it over his head and let Sam try to fly up near his hair. Chase's arms wrapped around his neck but didn't touch Sam. With that out of the way, Sean tightened his hug and discreetly used his super strength to crush the air out of Chase.

The YouTuber made an "oomph!" sound that sounded like a wheeze. "Ribs—need some air," Chase pleaded.

"No. Suffer," Sean replied, then gave him one last bear hug and let go. Chase took a deep breath and rested his hands on his head. The camera and Nerf gun lay forgotten on a nearby chair.

"Goddamn, Sean, you been working out or something?" Chase questioned. "You nearly killed me."

"Yeah, I—I work out regularly," Sean said. "You know...lifting weights. Punching bags. That stuff."

"Take me with you to the gym one day," Chase joked, though he had no intentions of ever working out.

"Ha," Sean said. "I can't believe you're back! How was Tahiti?"

"Oh, it was great, man," Chase said, eyes lighting up. "Stacy and the kids had a blast. The kids said they wanted to stay there forever and stuff, but what can you do?"

"Aw. Did you break it to them hard?"

"They cried," Chase said seriously.

"Really?"

Chase cracked a smile. "Nah, I'm messing with you. They understood. So! Capo City's got a new superhero!"

"Yeah," Sean said, trying to sound enthusiastic. His hands felt sweaty (not that they could even sweat). "He's, um, red."

"Have you seen him in action?"

"Ah, no, not really," Sean answered. "I've busy in here for the past week fixing things for Signe."

"Oh, Signe?" Chase said. "That's the lady at the front who always greets everyone, isn't it? She was nice to me on the way up."

"She's the nicest," Sean agreed. He was glad the subject was changing.

"Anyway! Back to that superhero lad," Chase started; Sean cursed his luck—he should have knocked on wood. "People are starting to call him 'Jack'. What kind of superhero name—?"

"Hey, _I_ didn't make it," Sean said, shrugging.

"What?"

"I mean, like...I didn't dub him that. I don't think it's a good superhero name either. It makes him sound lame."

"He's freaking cool, though," Chase said. He held up his camera. "I think I'm gonna spend the next few weeks vlogging around Capo to see if I can get him in at least one of my videos. Like treasure hunting, except the treasure is one person."

"You do that," Sean said. "Are you going back to your daily upload schedule?"

"Nah," Chase said. "That was stressful as fuck. I'm doing three vids a week now. I just don't know how I'm gonna break it to my subscribers. First I go on a vacation for a _month_ , and then I come back and post less?"

"They're not gonna hate you for it," Sean assured him. "You've got a great community. They'll understand."

"Maybe," Chase said, doubtful. He grabbed his Nerf gun and camera. "Sorry this visit is so short. I'm taking Stace to a restaurant in half an hour."

"That's fine," Sean said. "You're back in Capo, so it's not like you're going anywhere." He smiled. "I'm just glad you're back."

"Me too," Chase said. "I'm glad I'm back." He opened the door, but before he stepped out, he pointed the Nerf gun at Sean. "Later, loser!"

Another Nerf bullet hit Sean, this time in his arm. "Fuck! You've got lazy aim!" Sean yelled at him. 

Chase was already far gone to hear his last words.

"He didn't even...fucking...close the door," Sean muttered angrily at Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What! Are! The Kids'! Names!! JSE, we need to know!
> 
> Quick question: Do I keep using ambiguous ways to talk about Chase's kids, or do I actually give them a headcanon name? If you say the latter, I don't even know what kind of genders or ages they are. I'm curious to hear what you guys think I should do.
> 
> ALSO! I saw this video and I needed to share it with you guys. Did I cry? No. 
> 
> Here's the URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ
> 
> What'd you think of it? Lmk.
> 
> Enjoy the next chapter (that is, when it comes out!)
> 
> Edit 6/19/18: I had a brainfart. Apparently I called Chase's wife "Stephanie" when really it's "Stacy" and I apologize. I think it's because I was thinking of Stephanie from GT aha, anyway it should be fixed now.


	17. The Fall of Veraque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter includes a little bit of violence and a small mention of a graphic depiction. I don't like to take chances and I want everyone to be safe when reading this, so if you do not like reading anything remotely bloody, please don't read it. Thank you, and stay safe.

The average life that Bing lived was gone, not that he was complaining.

He went home after his conversation with the superhero Jack, his mind racing. He didn't have time to really reflect on what happened that day, but now that he had time to spare, he couldn't believe any of it. Bing was attacked by a homicidal Google bot who wanted to destroy mankind. He held his own with his skateboard and obnoxious questions until Jack showed up. The Google bot escaped into thin air like magic. Then, Jack flew him to an apartment roof and they both agreed to help each other out against this new threat.

Holy fuck, that's bonkers.

They exchanged phone numbers and everything. Bing scratched his head and pulled out his phone. He stared at Jack's number for a long time, thinking to himself. What was Bing supposed to do now? He wasn't going to report the guy, obviously, but this was a group project. Jack expected Bing to contribute.

 _Ugh, commitment. That's so lame_ , Bing thought, closing his eyes. _I don't even like group projects..._

"But I gotta," Bing murmured aloud. "A superhero's depending on me, ain't he? Not like I can let him down—agh, fuck it." He pushed himself into a sitting position and held back a yawn. He repositioned his orange shades on the coffee table in front of him so they didn't dangle precariously over the edge. "C'mon, Bing, suck it up..."

He moved to grab his laptop. Sitting back down, he opened it up, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get... _cracking_. Ha, ha, ha, I'm hilarious."

For the next half hour, he poured over files on the Internet, trying to find any mentions of Google IRL. He was quite a skilled hacker and definitely knew his way around the web, so it wasn't long before he found a few things.

One of them was an email between two Google employees. They were messaging each other about a break-in at a place called The Veraque. Bing frowned at the emails. He looked over more emails, all of them mentioning "Veraque", but there was nothing to suggest where this place was or what was important about it.

Finally, after another dozen emails and a hundred more files, he struck gold.

"Urethra!" he cried. "Shoot, it's 'eureka'. Eureka. _Eureka_."

Bing found a few videos. He clicked into it and prepared himself.

The videos were of surveillance monitors. Looking at some of the cameras outside, Bing understood what the place was. It was a pretty wide warehouse that must've held something important, for there were armed guards lining the corners. It could've been mistaken for a military base, but the guards were most certainly _not_ military-esque people. For one, their fashion was _horrendous_.

For the first hour and a half, Bing was on the edge of his seat, watching for something important. Nothing really happened, except for the guards changing shifts. Occasionally, they'd scratch their nose or readjust their gun. That was peak entertainment so far.

However, something caught his eye around the 11:59 mark. It was a brief flash of movement too fast for an average human to process it, but Bing picked up on it immediately. Something wasn't right.

The time was 12:00. The cameras on the inside of the warehouse were going unfocused and fuzzy. After a few seconds, they stopped.

"That...that's not right," Bing muttered. His stomach was turning a little in anticipation. Just what was he about to see?

Suddenly, every camera shut off, showing unresponsive static like a bad TV. It was so out of the blue that Bing fell back into his couch in terror. When the cameras were back online, the scene before him was gruesome.

The cameras outside the warehouse were the first back. Guards that Bing knew were alive moments ago were now laying on the floor, guns strewn like bolts of lighting. Blood was pooling under their bodies. A man closest to the camera was staring blankly up at it. There was a thick gash across his throat; blood gushed from it like a waterfall.

"Oh, God." Bing shut his eyes and curled into himself. He felt like throwing up. There was a queasy feeling in his stomach. Still, he had to tough it out. He _needed_ to see what happened next. Bing needed answers. He pried his eyes open and kept watching.

Red lights were now flashing on all the cameras. Guards on the inside of the warehouse were running down the halls, preparing for an intruder. A few guards were already outside, checking on the bodies and pointing their guns around.

"No, go back inside," Bing murmured. It was useless, though. Whatever was happening was in the past and there was no changing it.

There was a flash of light and a guard dropped dead. The guards nearest to him instinctively raised their guns and fired into the night, but they, too, were being taken down one by one. If he thought about it, he could almost hear their terrified screams. By the time the last man fell, the concrete was painted red, not a speck of the ground was perfect.

A figure entered the frame. Bing was about to scream when he realized this person wasn't a guard. They were completely made of shadows like a 3D silhouette. They picked up a dropped knife from a man's body and stared at one of the cameras. Their eyes were unnerving and of an animal's. They were an unnatural, glowing green, too.

The shadowed figure threw their head back in what looked like laughter. They pointed at the camera, dragged the knife across their throat mockingly, and disappeared when static took over the camera.

Inside, Bing watched in horror as the figure weaved through countless guards, slaughtering them with ease. The blood on the floors were the same shade as the blaring lights. Men who were unfortunate enough to die close to the camera had their eyes open in confusion and mild bewilderedness, as if they couldn't even process they were about to die. Any guards who survived long enough to see their friends' lifeless bodies on the floor were left to clutch their throats and stomachs until they joined them.

Bing didn't even have to press pause. The video ended immediately. There was no telling what happened next. The emails didn't say anything else. It was only a link.

Bing put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing the guards' bodies all over the place. He never thought he'd have to see something so awful; there was no bracing himself for this. And the thing that caused all of that...

"Their eyes..." Bing breathed. "Oh my God...they were glowing green, like...like..."

"Like poison," a monotonous voice said behind him.

Bing turned, wide-eyed. 

There, standing in the doorframe, was Google IRL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google kept his promise.
> 
> What did you think of that chapter? A little short, but I'm keeping the spacing this way for a little while longer. I quite like it. Plus, it keeps up the suspense.
> 
> I knew I wanted Bing to discover what happened at the warehouse. He's not always such a happy, cool guy—at least, not in this story. It just goes to show that anyone would be petrified watching that video.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I can't wait to write the next chapters!


	18. The Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another small warning: This chapter might also be a little bit bloody/gruesome. If you don't like that, please be cautious.

Google IRL stepped forward. His hair was messier than usual like he'd just got out of a fight, his glasses crooked.

Bing stood up slowly. His phone was on the table behind him, but he couldn't exactly turn his back to grab it. Google IRL was easy to distract, yet unpredictable. If he tried to grab his phone and call for help, Google IRL could intercept him quickly. "How did you find me?"

Google IRL looked down at Bing disparagingly. "Your hiding skills are substandard. It was a matter of time until you found the videos of Veraque."

"Veraque..." Bing said, his right arm going for the phone on his table. He could sense Google IRL's eyes starting to shift that way, so he cleared his throat loudly. "Did you purposefully send those emails so I could find them and stuff?" He paused. "What happened in that video, you scrap of metal?"

"The emails were not of my doing," Google IRL answered. He took a tiny step forward, as if he were trekking through thick mud. It must have been from answering the questions, which meant Bing couldn't ask questions forever. "They were always accessible for those who searched for them. However, anyone who did..."

Google IRL didn't finish his sentence; it trailed off into the air like a threat. Another step forward. "The video you watched took place fourteen days ago. Location: an abandoned warehouse near Capo City. The time stamp starts at 10:50 p.m. and ends at 12:30 a.m."

"I don't give a sh*t about the time stamps," Bing said. "What was that video?"

"I do not understand what you mean by that," Google IRL said. 

"God, you're pathetic," Bing snapped. "Who was that in the video? You finished my sentence—'like poison'. Who the h*ll was that?"

The robot's glasses flashed white. "That information has been restricted," he said. A bigger step towards Bing, who was already unlocking his phone and opening up his text app. "You have wasted your questions, as I predicted." Bing was frantically typing his location to Jack. "My primary objective will not stop me from my secondary. Destroying you will not destroy mankind, but it will _get me one step closer_."

Google IRL rushed forward just as Bing hit send. He didn't think he sent the text until he heard a soft "fwoosh!" from his phone, and he couldn't revel in the feeling of relief because Google IRL tackled him into the coffee table, sending his cracked shades flying. Hands were being wrapped around his throat; Bing struggled to break free of the robot's strength, but he couldn't breathe. Every second spent trying to do so was in vain. His vision was blurring.

"What's—" Bing gasped. "What's the—first ten digits...of _pi_!"

He felt Google IRL's grip loosen. "3.141592653—"

"Hah!" Bing ripped the robot's hands off his neck and took a gulp of air. He used all the momentum he had and pushed Google IRL to the side, sending the robot staggering. He ran for the door and managed to grab his skateboard just as his leg was yanked out underneath himself. He hit the floor with an "oomph!"

"Your efforts are futile," Google IRL said, pulling him back by his leg. "I am the superior robot here."

Bing twisted around to face Google IRL and swung his skateboard at the robot's face. Expecting it, Google IRL's hand grabbed the board and tugged it from Bing's grasp. He snapped the board in half.

"You're an imbecile," Google IRl remarked, sizing up the board. "You cannot strike lucky twice."

"NO!" Bing shouted, reaching for Google IRL's face. "You b@stard! You'll pay for—!"

BAM!

One of the skateboard halves struck Bing in his stomach, knocking him flat to the ground again. It hurt like hell—the wind was knocked from his lungs. Google IRL didn't stop. He kept hitting Bing with his skateboard, going for his face. It might as well have been a baseball bat. Bing's head was slammed into the carpet hard enough to give him a concussion. Blood was oozing from his face as he tried to defend himself, raise his arms, curl into a ball, do anything to stop it. His vision was fading, turning into nauseating stars.

Bing's body gave out. His arms dropped to his sides on the ground, his legs stopped jerking with each blow. He couldn't fight Google IRL. He didn't have the strength.

Google IRL stood over him indifferently. The two halves of Bing's skateboard were in each of his hands, staining with his blood. Google IRL threw one of them at Bing's chest; the latter could barely stay conscious.

"I overestimated you," Google IRL mused. "I assessed you as a threat in the park. Looking at you, I see a rejected...rejected attempt of a human."

"You're..." Bing muttered, eyes flitting open. "...un' ta talk..."

Google IRL's nostrils flared. He raised the other half of the skateboard. " _I found you_. It is time to keep my promise."

"You'll have to hold off on that one, Google," a cold voice said from behind the robot. "Put the skateboard down."

"Accepted." Google IRL's hand opened. The skateboard thudded against the carpet dully. "Awaiting orders."

"Stand by," the other person replied coolly. The person was approaching Bing's body. They squinted down at him. "This is the man...Bingiplier."

"Correct."

The person suddenly grabbed Bing's head and lifted it up. Bing choked on blood in the back of his throat. His vision was fading, but he _knew_ who it was. The shadowy figure that murdered an entire warehouse of people. That was _them_. "I believe you asked who I was earlier. To Google? I'm sure he wouldn't tell you—I did, after all, restrict it myself. The truth is...I wanted to save your question for _this moment_. Why should I let someone else steal _my_ thunder?"

Bing shut his eyes. With a growl, the person pried them open, forcing Bing to stare at their eyes. Up close, they resembled a snake's.

"You've heard my name before, you know. At the park?" The person's shadowy appearance fell apart. They were suddenly a man with dark green hair and arched eyebrows. When he grinned, his incisors were sharp like a wolf's. "I am Aņtis̶e̶pti̡c͢ey̷ę."

He pressed his hands against Bing's face and dug his nails into the side of his head. Bing screamed until his voice went hoarse, until Antisepticeye's sharp nails left claw marks into his forehead and temples. Till his nails were painted red. As Bing's eyes closed and his body went slack, fresh blood dripped down the side of his face and behind his ears.

"Leave him be," Antisepticeye ordered, his eyes darting to Google IRL. "His s͎͕a͖̠͚̙͚v͇̰̬̲̼͉i̖͙̯͖̪̺o̵͇r͠ will attempt to rescue him. When he comes, you will be there to stop him."

"Accepted."

"That means you will _not_ kill Bingiplier unless I give you the order."

"Accepted."

Antisepticeye smiled. "You make for a nice _puppet_. Once this is all over, I might just attach you to strings and dangle you from a ceiling."

Google IRL turned to Bing, trying to hide his face. It was full of pain. "Understood."

Shadows ran to Antisepticeye and covered his body again. The demon disappeared through an open window, out into the darkness of the night.

Google IRL moved to a corner of the room, waiting. His eyes never left Bing's figure on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by: "Human" - Rag'n'Bone Man
> 
> When I say "inspired", I just mean it was the song I listened to while writing the chapter. Like, it may or may not connect to what's going on in the story, but it might. (Between you and me, I'd say that this is Googleplier and Bingiplier's theme. It's quite ironic.)
> 
> I'm forcing myself to hold off on the next update until I can catch up on updating my author's notes for this story. I've already posted up to Chapter 7, so I'll cut it off at, like, Chapter 17. So don't worry too much if the wait is long. I'm still around!
> 
> Thanks for reading this chapter <3


	19. One Question

As someone who never really had lasting friendships, Sean couldn't comprehend how well he bonded with Robbie.

They agreed on so many things and shared the same humor. Robbie was surprisingly articulate and incredibly knowledgeable on many topics, especially computer programming, something Robbie was an expert in. Sean found it easy to listen to him spew ideas and facts whenever he possibly could. Most of their conversation was about games, though, which was a topic they could never run out of things to say with.

Sean spent more time at Robbie's floor than his own, but he still kept up his vigilantism. He'd leave Robbie's at five in the afternoon and patrol Capo City until midnight, and then he'd return to his apartment via the apartment roof and crash until Signe called him for work. It sounded a little unhealthy, but it was exactly what Sean needed in his life. He needed routine, and a reason to get out of bed and be productive.

Robbie and Sean were talking about upcoming movies when Sean felt his pocket vibrate.

"Hang on, I got a text," Sean said, checking his phone. He felt weird; normally the only person who texted him was Chase, and he set a unique sound for Chase's texts. This text was from Bing, the skater he met at the park who was fending off an angry robot. "Oh, it's him."

Robbie raised an eyebrow. "Who?" he asked curiously.

If anyone else had asked such a question early on in a friendship, Sean would've felt awkward having to explain himself. With Robbie, it was casual enough. "This guy I met at the park." Sean frowned and opened the text. "He's cool...makes a lot of references, though. You'd probably like him."

The only thing Bing sent him was his location. Sean would've thought he had some news on the robot who called himself Google IRL or something. Guess he didn't. Still, Sean was curious as to why Bing would do this. Maybe he didn't want to share the news over text? Maybe it was better person to person?

"If you need to, feel free to leave," Robbie said. Sean looked at him. "Your eyebrows were creased. I suspect something happened?"

"Oh, he just sent me his location," Sean said, holding his phone up. "I don't think it's too important. He would've texted more."

"Well, you can never be too cautious," Robbie said. "We can always talk later. Go ahead."

"Are you sure?" Sean asked.

As Robbie nodded, streaks of his purple hair flew into his face. "Absolutely. I'd say that's more of a priority than this."

"Thanks, man," Sean said, and he left for his apartment. The first thing he did was change into his suit because he still didn't want to risk his identity to Bing. He already (accidentally) revealed where he lived—he didn't need to give the guy any more clues.

Sam was curled up in their bird bed, supposedly asleep. When Sean closed his dresser a little too harshly, Sam's eye popped open, and then he rushed up to Sean excitedly.

"Time to do the thing," Sean said. Sam obliged, zipping around him to apply the blue mask. It was almost like magic. "We've got a buddy to visit."

Sam's eye creased as if they were smiling. Jack was so much better at interpreting Sam's expressions. Definitely a little different from interpreting human expression, but nothing difficult.

They flew over the skies of Capo City. Jack was staring at his phone and clutching it tight, hoping he wouldn't drop it a hundred feet in the air. Sam was at his side the whole time, peeking glances at the phone. It was a challenge navigating a city when soaring above any and all street signs, but the pro was that there was no traffic to get stuck in. Jack could simply fly above it all and look down when he needed to.

Bing's location was at his apartment. It was a little nicer than Jack's apartment—the building itself looked newly built and the sidewalk was recently power washed. The windows for each apartment room were speckless. Jack couldn't help but feel a little envious, but he pushed it aside as he touched down on the apartment's roof.

_Thank God they even have one,_ Jack thought, except there was no elevator at the top. Just some stairs that weren't as pristine as the exterior.

It also just occurred to him that he didn't know which floor Bing would be on. He didn't think Bing would settle for a lower floor—Jack suspected his room would be on the top or near it, just like himself.

"I mean, there's only one way to find out," Jack muttered, taking the steps. He stopped as soon as he saw a door to the floor. Sam floated in front of Jack like a torch, their green body glowing dimly. It wasn't much, but Jack appreciated the thought nevertheless.

He opened the door and knocked on the first room he found. He could tell it was Bing's—for one, there was an orange sign on the door that said _Bingiplier's Batcave_ , along with some skateboard stickers underneath it. Jack almost rolled his eyes at it.

He waited five seconds, then knocked again. His gloves were on, so the sound might have been a little duller. Sam peeked through the eyehole as if that would help. They shook their head. Bing wasn't answering the door.

"Hello?" Jack called, practically rapping at the window. "Bing, answer your goddamn door. It's Jack!"

Sam made a small motion with their optic nerve, like they were kicking something.

Jack understood it and agreed. 

"Bing, last chance," he said loudly. He really hoped he wasn't disturbing anybody else, although the walls didn't seem thin in the slightest. "I'm gonna All Star your door if you don't answer." A pause. "Fine. Send me your location and you don't even check your door...I should've gone through a window..."

He took a deep breath, raised his leg, and kicked down the door.

The first thing he saw was a half of Bing's skateboard lying in front of the door. It was as if someone had broken it over their knee, but the oddest thing was that it was covered in blood. Jack picked it up and sniffed it. Fresh blood. Oh no...

Jack's heart was starting to race. He was aware that his teeth were clenched, but he couldn't relax his jaw. He stepped into the main room and stopped dead in his tracks, stunned.

Covered in shadow, the place was a total mess. The walls were dented, the carpet dripping with blood puddles. Jack spotted the other half of the skateboard by a sofa. Bing's cracked shades were thrown on the floor, broken beyond repair. Next to it was the owner himself, unmoving.

"No, no, no," Jack said, immediately rushing towards Bing, who laid spread-eagled behind his sofa—the only thing Jack could have seen from the door were his shoes. Jack crouched over Bing. The skater was unconscious and suffering from several injuries. His tank top was lifted up a little, revealing some of Bing's bruised skin underneath. Blood was flowing freely down his battered face. The carpet underneath him was a dark red. His expression was unnerving—it was the face of someone dreaming a nightmare. His mouth was parted open in what looked like a silent scream. Jack could only wonder what gave him that face.

Looking at his face, Jack could see why the skateboard was bloody. It was so clear to him now, but as his question was answered, more popped up. He couldn't dwell on them right now. He had to help Bing somehow.

"Sam!"

The eyeball zipped to Jack, eye widening at the sight of Bing's body. Jack looked up at them in panic. "I need—I need you to find me a first-aid kit! Anything! Bandages, gauze—go, please!"

The eye was gone. There was distant rummaging in the other rooms of Bing's apartment. Jack gingerly lifted up Bing's head and cringed as Bing gasped quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

He kept Bing's head up to fully assess the damage, since it was more beaten than anything else. In the grim darkness of the room (Jack really should have turned on a light), he could start to make out slashes on the skater's face, specifically on his temples, behinds his ears, and on his forehead. Jack couldn't explain what he was looking at—the marks looked like an animal's...maybe a tiger or some type of feline, but there was no way an animal could attack Bing in an _apartment_. The claw marks were too big for a household cat—it had to have been a tiger.

But how would a tiger even get into an apartment like this?

Jack shook his head and started wiping off the blood from Bing's face. He tried to be gentle, but every touch seemed to hurt like hell, for Bing's face was tight and sweating.

"You need not worry for Bingiplier," a voice said behind him, startling Jack. He immediately whipped around into a defensive position—the voice was one he recognized. From the shadows, a tall man with black hair and metallic glasses stepped out. "The likelihood of death is eleven percent."

"You," Jack growled, standing up. He balled his fists. "You did this to Bing!"

"Incorrect," Google IRL said. Jack hated himself for not seeing the robot sooner. He should have been able to hear his movement. "It was not just me. I thank you for arriving with posthaste. My orders are to stop you."

"Oh, shut up. Who else did this to him?" Jack demanded. "Tell me, you Siri bitch! I'll find your creator myself!"

"Restricted," was all Google IRL said.

Jack shouted and charged at the robot. "Go to hell!"

The robot sidestepped and backed up to a wall. "The likelihood of winning this match is sixty-six percent."

"Good!" Jack said, following Google IRL's voice and swinging his fist in that direction.

"For me," Google IRL replied. Suddenly, he caught Jack's fist with his left hand and twisted. Jack cried out in pain and tried to shake free. Google IRL turned his body and—with strength a robot shouldn't ever possess—sent Jack flying into a wall, denting it. "Your odds have never been lower."

Jack clutched his arm and barely avoided Google IRL's next attack. The room was too small to play cat and mouse. Jack ducked as the robot grabbed the air above him and pushed off from the wall. He tackled Google IRL into the sofa and held him down. He landed two punches before the robot rolled out from under him and kicked Jack in the stomach. Jack wheezed as he tumbled over and kept his balance steady. He felt his face heating up. He couldn't fight like this forever. He needed an idea.

Idea!

"Quick! What's a group of crows called?" Jack shouted, remembering what Bing said about Google IRL's weakness. To his surprise, the robot stopped in his tracks. The perfect distraction.

"Murder," said Google IRL. He resumed his fighting and kicked at Jack, who avoided it again (he was getting slower) and asked, "When did the potato famine start?"

"1845," Google IRL said, just as Jack managed a lucky blow to him. His super strength really helped him even the odds—Google IRL couldn't keep his balance and hit the wall five feet behind him. His hair was all over the place. "Your questions—"

"What's a question?" Jack blurted, punching Google IRL square in the nose. His glasses bent but did not break or fall off. Google IRL staggered backwards dizzily.

"A sentence worded or expressed so as to elicit information. Stop—"

WHAM!

A final blow sent Google IRL to the floor.

Jack immediately turned back to Bing. Sam was arriving with bandages and a small aid kit. Jack pried it open and began to wrap as much of the gauze as he could around Bing's head, saving some for Bing's stomach. That would come later. For now, his head needed it the most.

"I need," Jack wheezed. "I need to get a doctor. Sam..."

But Sam wasn't paying attention to Jack. They were looking behind him.

He heard Google IRL's voice, but it sounded layered. _"Upgrade complete."_

"Uh oh."

Green, red, blue yellow. Four Google IRLs. All of them were standing in a neat row, staring down at Jack's crouched figure. They started towards Jack, taking their sweet time, taunting him.

"The probability has increased to seventy percent," Green Google said. "Thanks to some _help_ from... _me_."

"There is no stopping my orders," Yellow Google chimed in. " _I'm_ always improving."

The original Google, the blue one, smiled. It was emotionless yet faintly cold. "Do not be _scared_ , vigilante. You just need to ask yourself one question."

Jack prepared himself. He met Google IRL's gaze and mustered up any courage he had. He need to help Bing. He was responsible for this, and he was going to fix it. "Oh, I've got a question, all right."

He closed his eyes, cracked his knuckles. _"Do I feel lucky?"_

And broke into a sprint. He ignored the other Googles—the main one was all that mattered to him. He felt arms grabbing at his shirt and felt them dragging him back, but he kept pushing through. The other Googles knew what he was doing and were trying to play bodyguard.

They wouldn't budge. So Jack had to make them.

He concentrated and leaped high into the air. Red Google tried to catch his foot but ended up getting kicked in the forehead. Jack grunted and threw his weight onto the other two Googles and knocked them to the floor. Sam was by his side, keeping the Red Google at bay. Google IRL was trying to land blows on Jack, but he was unstoppable. His resolve was too strong.

He yanked Google IRL near the window. "This—is for—everything!"

With a violent shove, Jack pushed Google IRL through the window. Google latched onto Jack's arm, and they fell through it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Sean isn't doing vigilantism, he is referred to as Sean. However, once he becomes his hero self, he's referred to as Jack. It might seem confusing, but they're essentially one character!
> 
> I hope this fight scene was better than the others I've written throughout this story. I never realized how difficult they were, jeez...(@ Haunted_Moonlight, teach me your ways...)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking to the story! Apologies for this late update—I explained in my (on hold) Author's Notes that I had a busy week, but it should come to pass. Hopefully. Okay, thank you!


	20. Medical Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is there a doctor in the apartment?"

It's hard to sleep when people make too much noise, especially in apartments.

Dr. Schneeplestein's apartment walls weren't even thick, but he could still hear soft thuds from the floor above him. He knew who was above him—that skater, Bing, who always seemed to spend his days skating around Capo City. Dr. Schneeplestein didn't even know if he had a job. He must have, though—their apartment was quite pricy. Still, imagining that man working didn't seem plausible.

The noise from above didn't stop. Occasionally there was a brief pause where the ceiling was silent, but then it'd continue again, just as Dr. Schneeplestein was relaxing into his chair. He made a sour face and finally decided to pay a visit to Bing.

The stairs were shuddering on his way up. Dr. Schneeplestein wondered if the people running the apartment would ever fix that; it felt like he was going to fall every time he took the stairs to his floor, which was a ways up. He quickly found Bing's door and knocked.

The door was already ajar, so when Dr. Schneeplestein's knuckle rapped against it, the door creaked open. He frowned. Nobody ever kept their door open, even if they were going to the parking lot to grab groceries. It was like asking to be robbed by the other residents in the apartment. And there was a funny smell, too, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Bing?" Dr. Schneeplestein said, wondering if he should just close the door. He was invading someone's space. "Bing? I need to z'peak vith you...Bing?"

Dr. Schneeplestein got no response. Agitated, he was about to close the door when he heard a soft noise from inside the apartment. His face brightened. So the bastard was home!

"Bing!"

A loud noise. This was starting to make him worry. Bing would answer the door if he was home, unless it was the cops. But Bing must have known that it was Dr. Schneeplestein on the other side of the door, not an officer. Dr. Schneeplestein bit his lip and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

His eyes widened behind his glasses. There was blood on the floor, the walls, and the furniture. The funny smell from earlier was _blood_ and it _reeked_.

The doctor quickly shut the door and hurried inside. He barely noticed the broken window to his left as he found Bing's battered form on the floor. Oddly enough, there was already a first aid kit with some bandages trailing from it, but it didn't look like anyone could have helped Bing, and certainly not the man himself. Dr. Schneeplestein frowned, deciding not to dwell on it. He studied Bing's face—there were claw marks and definite signs of a concussion, as well as minor internal bleeding. He pressed his ear to Bing's chest; he could hear a faint wheezing. Dr. Schneeplestein touched his chest. The skater's lungs were punctured.

"Fuck," Dr. Schneeplestein stressed, putting pressure onto Bing's chest wounds. He barely flinched as Bing's face scrunched up in pain, his body curling. The German couldn't do much to ease his pain. He scavenged the kit with his free hand and found gauze. Carefully, he rolled it around Bing's stomach, cursing over Bing's grunts.

He quickly realized that he didn't have the tools or the time to help Bing. A first aid kit couldn't save him from a punctured lung, or a concussion, or internal bleeding. It could only stop the bleeding, but there was too much...if Dr. Schneeplestein had been here earlier, he could have helped him in time...

"No, no, no," Dr. Schneeplestein said, his voice rising. His hands began to shake. More bandages, that was the only thing he could do...maybe if he kept it up... "Do not vail me now... _I juz got here_..."

Something passed the corner of his eye. Dr. Schneeplestein whipped his head around to see a floating green eyeball staring at him, unblinking.

He shrieked and grabbed the kit, raising it over his head. The contents flew in all directions. His eyes were wild. "Ztay back! I'll—"

The eyeball didn't waste time. It grabbed Dr. Schneeplestein by his arm using the optic nerve behind its body and yanked him forward. The doctor shrieked again. His hand was placed firmly on Bing's stomach.

"What are you—AH!"

His hand was starting to glow green. The light was brightest at the center of his palm, but it soon started to creep up his forearm through his veins, like a luminescent tree. As he watched, he started to feel a pain in his chest, like he was suffocating. His vision started to go blurry, so he shut his eyes. He felt like he was dying. He wanted it to stop.

The eyeball persisted. It wrapped around Dr. Schneeplestein's arm until it cut off his circulation and his arm turned purple, until the light green glow soon darkened into an olive green like his hair. Through his shut eyelids, Dr. Schneeplestein could feel the light glowing under his skin; it was that strong. All of a sudden, he could feel his chest filling back up with air. He opened his eyes and blinked gray spots away.

He was still in Bing's room, on the floor. The eyeball was staring up at him, brow creased with worry. Dr. Schneeplestein's face was covered in sweat, which he wiped away on his sleeve exhaustedly. As he looked down, he sucked in his breath.

There used to be big, purple bruises on Bing's stomach, but his skin was spotless. The blood seeping from his bandages was drying before his eyes. The claw marks on Bing's face were barely paper cuts. Dr. Schneeplestein pressed a hand to his chest and felt not broken ribs or punctured lungs. He was...he was fine.

There was a faint tinge to his skin, though, that made Dr. Schneeplestein a little concerned. However, it was already fading, and in a matter of seconds, it was completely gone.

"Zat is a medical miracle," Dr. Schneeplestein whispered to himself, peering over Bing. He frowned and lifted his hands, studying them warily. "Did I...?"

He glanced at the eyeball, who was floating at eye level. This entire time, Dr. Schneeplestein didn't have time to fully process the absurdity, but now it was coming to him. He was nervous, to say the least. "You...vat did you do to me?"

The eyeball didn't respond. Its eye widened like it just remembered something and zoomed over to the window, looking out. Its gaze landed somewhere below the window. Before Dr. Schneeplestein could ask another question, the eyeball backed up, and a figure hopped into the room through the window.

"Hell," they were saying. Their breathing was heavy as they rested their hands on their knees. "That was the _worst_. I'm never doing that again."

They looked up. In the dim lighting of the room, Dr. Schneeplestein could vaguely make out their features. They were in a red suit, their hair partially exposed underneath a hood. The top half of their face was hidden behind a blue mask.

"Oh," Jack said, his face going slack. "Hey, wait, I recognize you!"

"Az do I," Dr. Schneeplestein said, lifting his arm accusingly. "You're zat man who zaved me from ze car! Jack!"

"Ha," Jack said. "What's up, doc?" His eyes shifted to the body behind Dr. Schneeplestein. "Bing! Oh, God—"

"Iz is your friend?" Dr. Schneeplestein asked, moving over to let Jack stand over him. "I found him like zis...well, zat is a lie. He vas in a much more worze condition when I arrived."

Jack nodded. "He was bleeding everywhere when I found him, too." He made motions towards his own face and body. "I thought he was dead. Thank you, doc."

"I-I zink he was very cloze to death," Dr. Schneeplestein said softly. He looked up at Jack. "Vat happened?"

The superhero's face went blank. It was frustrating enough having him wear a mask, but now he was wearing two. "I don't know. I don't think I should be involving anybody else with this."

Dr. Schneeplestein fumed. "Zir, I have jus' zaved hiz life!"

"And I'm grateful—"

"Ze leazt you could do iz provide me vith some context!"

Jack winced. "The last time I did that...well..." He gestured towards Bing's unconscious form. "That happened. I don't—I can't risk this again. You're just a doctor."

"You're juzt a man." Dr. Schneeplestein stood up and adjusted his glasses. "Pleaze."

The superhero was quiet for a long time. He kept glancing around the room and down at Bing's body, then back at the window. Dr. Schneeplestein realized why. There was another body under the window—a man with a blue shirt and messy hair, who seemed to be unconscious, too. Dr. Schneeplestein's eyes focused back on Jack. "Okay. Okay. I don't—I don't know what I'm doing..."

Jack paused and collected himself. "First things first. What's your name?"

"Dr. Schneeplestein," the German said, holding his hand out. It took Jack a second to realize it was a handshake. They shook hands awkwardly. "I vill not ask for yourz."

Jack merely nodded. He glanced at the eyeball near the window. "Sam, I—"

The man under the window was stirring. He muttered something like "Rebooting..." but Jack walked over to him, punched him across the face, and he went slack again.

"Iz zat man all right?" Dr. Schneeplestein asked, concerned.

"I don't know, and frankly, his wellbeing isn't high on my priority list," Jack grumbled. He pointed at the man. "You see that man?"

"Ah...yes?"

"That's our problem right there."

"I-I don't zee how."

"He's the reason Bing's like this. And he's gonna pay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's high time Jack met Schneep. If only it wasn't under such horrible circumstances.
> 
> School is _out_ and I'm feeling great! I had a fever last week which left me in my bed for like 3 days so I couldn't see my sister graduate, but I'm back in tip top shape. Through that entire week of recovery, I tried to write this chapter. However, I couldn't get my creative juices flowing and I felt like I wrote myself into a corner—I didn't really know how to approach this chapter and what to include. I'm just glad I finished it, haha.
> 
> Now that summer is a thing, I have more time to write :) except I've got some homework for this AP class I'm taking, so chapters won't be coming daily or anything.
> 
> Thank you all again for sticking to the story. I always appreciate the feedback that I get on this site and is one of the reasons this story is still kicking! Happy Pride Month, by the way! :D


	21. Under His Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may not like what you find.

"You're not going to...kill him? Are you?" Dr. Schneeplestein asked anxiously.

Jack cracked his knuckles. "Oh, I'm thinking about it."

The doctor's eyes widened. "Vhoa—maybe ve should not take zuch draztic meazurez!"

"Calm down, doc, I wasn't actually considering it," Jack said. "By Jaysus, that'd be insane. I just want to talk to him."

"He zaid zomething earlier," Dr. Schneeplestein said. "'Rebooting?' Iz zis man lucid?"

"Actually, he's a robot."

"Robot?"

"The G on his shirt stands for Google," Jack explained. "We don't really know much about him at the moment—fighting is never really a great way to hold a conversation. He's supposed to answer questions as fast as possible—Bing said that's his primary objective. His secondary objective is to, uh, destroy mankind."

"Bing and you vere vorking together? Zhis whole time?" Dr. Schneeplestein asked.

"Not exactly? We kind of met while Google was attacking Bing at a park—"

"Zat explosion," Dr. Schneeplestein blurted. "Zere was an explosion on the news."

"Yeah, I saw that," Jack said. "Google ran away and I wanted answers, so I took Bing to...a place...and we figured out things from there. He said he'd call if he found stuff on Google, so I thought he meant that when he sent his location." Jack forced a laugh. "I didn't think it was because Google was there. Oh, God. I almost didn't show up..."

"Very lucky zat you did," Dr. Schneeplestein said. They both glanced at Bing. "Maybe ve should have moved him to ze couch."

"I got it." While he effortlessly picked Bing up and set him down on a couch (fortunately, it wasn't covered in blood), Jack said, "He's been out for a while. Is he okay?"

"Recovery iz not fast for zome people," Dr. Schneeplestein pointed out.

"So when do you estimate he'll wake up?"

"Twenty minutes ago." Dr. Schneeplestein sat up in his chair. "Zis muzzafucker zhould have been up by now, but I zink zis iz my fault. Your companion did zomething to my arm, and zat vas how I helped Bingiplier."

Jack froze. "Your arm?" He turned to the green eyeball, who was busying itself near the bookshelf. "Sam, what'd you do to the doc?"

"I zink it vas magic," Dr. Schneeplestein said, sighing. "Which zhould not exizt, anyvay." 

"Heh, funny you say that," Jack said. He scratched the back of his neck. "Listen, doc. It's gonna sound weird and stuff, and I'm taking a _huge_ risk here, but that's kind of how I got my powers." Before Dr. Schneeplestein could open his mouth, Jack continued. "I was on a train when I met Sam. They were in this duffel bag behind me, and when I found them, they grabbed me around the arm. There was green light and weird stuff crawling up my arm, but it gave me strength. And, you know, the ability to fly."

"Zat iz most peculiar," Dr. Schneeplestein said after a pause. He frowned. "Definitely not zome drug?"

"I don't think drugs are injected through weird eyeballs—no offense, Sam."

"And your powerz—zey have not worn off?" Dr. Schneeplestein asked. "How long have you had zem?"

"About three, four weeks? Time passes by fast when you vigilante your way around a city."

There was a deep frown on the doctor's face. Nothing seemed to make sense and he couldn't believe the superhero wasn't questioning most of it. A sentient eyeball that gave out superpowers?

"That's not the least of our worries," Jack said suddenly. "We've got a killer robot here, and an unresponsive buddy over there. Frankly, the one that I _don't_ want waking up is gonna wake up before the other, and I don't wanna deal with that."

Dr. Schneeplestein was already checking on Bing's status, humming to himself as Jack talked. Upon a closer look, Dr. Schneeplestein could see there was something wrong with Bing, something that should have been fucking obvious the first time he looked at Bing. Why it only caught his eye now, he didn't know.

"Since you want to be _so_ involved in this shit show, we need to figure out what we're gonna do. We can't turn in a robot to the authorities and we can't, like, kill Google IRL."

"Jack?"

"Is it technically murder if it's a robot?"

"Jack."

"Robot's aren't human, right?"

 _"Jack,"_ Dr. Schneeplestein snapped. Surprised, the superhero turned to stare at him. "You'll vant to zee zis."

He propped up Bing's head so Jack could see what was wrong. At first, there was nothing. The scratches and bruises on Bing's face were faded, nothing to worry about. His eyes were closed in deep sleep, or so Jack thought.

There was a flash of light underneath his eyelids, like tiny lightning. It was barely noticeable, but existent if one were looking for it.

Jack inhaled sharply. "That's not normal, doc," he muttered. "I-I—"

"Your questionz have a funny vay of answering themzelvez," Dr. Schneeplestein said. He was poker-faced, but Jack could tell that he was hiding his discomfort.

Dr. Schneeplestein's hands moved to the spot behind Bing's ears. He pulled out what looked like a piece of hair for Jack to see, except it _wasn't_ hair.

It was a small wire.

Immediately, Jack moved towards Bing. Dr. Schneeplestein showed him the back of his head, and it took him a second to process what he saw.

Wires. Metal plating. Jack built computers for fun, so he knew what went inside one. And everything that was inside a computer was inside Bing.

"Rebooting..." Google IRL droned from the window, his voice shaky. Jack threw half of a skateboard at him; a THUNK! later and the robot went silent.

_Robot's aren't human, right?_

"He didn't wake up because your magic was weak," Jack said, shaking his head. "He can't wake up because he's not even human. He's a robot."

"Ve can't help him, zen," Dr. Schneeplestein cried. "I am a _doctor_ , _not_ a programmer. I fix humanz, not machinez."

"Maybe _you_ don't..." Jack trailed off. An idea was forming in his head, but he couldn't possibly even think of going with it. He already had Dr. Schneeplestein dragged into this, and that was dangerous enough. It started with Bing—how many others could he rely on? And when will it be too much?

But Bing was in trouble. Human or not, he needed to be helped. God, he was a robot the whole time. Did that change anything? The fact that Jack was talking to a robot...it was very unsettling, especially when thinking about the things they talked about, and _where_.

Jack closed his eyes. There was no other way. He couldn't do this alone, he really couldn't. "Maybe _you_ don't. But I...I know a guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's funny how the Septic Egos are literally picking on Google. I should properly distribute the pain soon. *cracks knuckles*
> 
> Short chapter, but I needed to get this part out of the way. I'm glad I finally got to write the part where they realize Bing's not what he seems. We're one step closer to their real story ;) I hope that answers some questions on if Bing was human or not. This chapter is your answer! Although I'm sure a dozen other questions popped up because this one was answered.
> 
> And I'm sure this was probably on somebody's mind, but yeah, Googleplier isn't known as "Googleplier" in the story. Not yet. He's Google IRL for a reason. I'm saving up...
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'll see you at the end of the next chapter :D


	22. Take a Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the only thing that sucks about updating frequently is that people who read the story late won't comment on earlier chapters because there's more chapters to go to ;-; 
> 
> It's always neat when people discuss something before they know the outcome, because then you can go back and look at all the theorizing you've done (hard to describe the feeling but it's awesome and I love it)
> 
> Adding onto this, it's funny that I have to write an entire chapter just to add in these types of things, which is good motivation for finishing chapters!

Dr. Schneeplestein kind of expected to be left behind, but it still hurt when it came.

He watched in bewilderment as Jack lifted Bing like a rag doll and tossed him over his back like a sack. The superhero knocked Google IRL upside the head for good measure, picked him up around the waist, and waded to the window.

Dr. Schneeplestein understood what he was doing. "Vait, vhat about me?"

Jack didn't stop. He leaned out of the window and glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Schneeplestein. "Doc, I can barely take two passengers, here. You've been a great help, but I can't take you with me."

"Ve had a deal!" Dr. Schneeplestein argued. "Jack, you cannot keep _ditching_ people—"

Jack let out a chuckle. "I did tell you about Bing, didn't I? Thank you for everything—seriously."

"Jack, you cannot go it alone—"

"I'm not going it alone," Jack said. "Doc, you don't have to keep this thing up. You've already repaid me for the car crash. You can stop feeling like you owe me now."

Dr. Schneeplestein stepped back, insulted. "I didn't zink of it like zat. I juz vanted to help."

"You have." Jack made a beckoning motion towards the green eyeball. "Let's roll, Sam."

He hopped out of the window and dropped a few feet, trying to balance himself. Then he jetted off towards the high rises, away from town.

"Sam, iz it?" Dr. Schneeplestein questioned, doing his best to enunciate the _s_. The eyeball turned to him; Dr. Schneeplestein wasn't good at reading an eyeball's body language, but he thought he saw a mix of concern and pity. For who, the doctor didn't know. "Please take care of your friend for me. He meanz vell, I know, but he vill get himself hurt like zat." He hesitated, then added, "If that happenz, you vind me."

Sam nodded in understanding and zipped out the window.

Sighing to himself, Dr. Schneeplestein scanned the room and cursed. The room was as messy as ever; during their time there, none of the parties had attempted to clean up anything. Blood was already staining the carpet and objects were strewn about the floor, like the broken skateboard and orange shades. "Vat the fuck am I going to do in here?"

~***~

If there was one thing Robbie didn't like, it was the midnight munchies.

It happened to him occasionally, despite his successful attempts on living a healthy lifestyle. Whenever he got hungry, he'd scavenge his fridge for any fruit he could find, which was less appealing than a bag of potato chips. 

This time, it was before midnight. Robbie groaned and got up from his bed and padded towards his kitchen. Before he could even grasp the handle, there was a knock.

Having just got up from bed, he was a little disoriented. He opened his front door and rubbed his eyes. "Hello?"

There was nobody at the door. Robbie frowned, closing it. He could've sworn he heard someone knocking at his door. Perhaps it was just a mild case of hallucinating; it certainly was plausible if someone was tired and half-functioning. Robbie heard another series of knocks, and then he realized the sound wasn't coming from his door.

It was from his window.

Chills ran down his spine. He almost didn't want to turn around to see who—or what—it was. He forced his feet to turn him around and lift his gaze to the window.

It was a big figure—no. Upon closer inspection, Robbie saw three figures, all hovering outside his window. Two of them seemed to be limp. The middle figure was...

Robbie squinted. "Is that Jack?" He flicked on the light switch.

The lights revealed a man in a red suit and hood, a blue mask plastered to his face. His hair was a lot greener in person. The other two figures were, as Robbie suspected, sleeping. One of them was a lean man in a black tank top, jeans, and hi skate shoes. He was slung over Jack's shoulder. The other man was tall, dressed in a blue shirt with a G on it, with sleek, metallic glasses. His hair was disheveled like a rat's nest.

Jack's face was easy to see from the door. He mouthed, _Can you open the window?_

Flabbergasted, Robbie reluctantly moved to open the window. He let Jack in and kept his distance from the man.

"I have so many questions right now," Robbie said as Jack dropped the man with glasses and lowered the skater guy. "Um, I'll start with 'Why are you in my house?'"

"I needed a friend," Jack said, panting. "Believe me, I hate having to rely on others, but I don't really have a choice right now—"

"Friend?" Robbie repeated.

Jack reached up and grabbed his mask. He tugged at it, but it wouldn't budge. He frowned. "Uh..." He tugged again and awkwardly looked at Robbie's perplexed face. "Sorry. It won't come off." Jack instead opted for pulling down his hood, revealing his shaggy green hair. "It's me, Sean."

"Whoa, Sean?" Robbie exclaimed. "What the—but you're...?"

"Yeah, that's me." Sean jumped as the man with glasses shifted in his sleep. "Uh oh. Okay, Robbie, weird request, and I'll explain this later, but you said you were a computer programmer, right?"

"Ah, yeah," Robbie said, nervous. "I used to work for Apple...why?"

"Perfect!" Jack grabbed the glasses man by the scruff of his collar and lifted him up. Robbie's eyes widened. Seeing his friend have an unnatural amount of strength was something else entirely. "This is a computer."

"You're mistaken, Sean, that's a person."

"It's a computer, trust me. Is there any way you can shut it off, even for a while?"

Robbie bent down to take a closer peek at the supposed robot. He felt a little uncomfortable being so close to someone he didn't know, but he had to remind himself that it (probably) wasn't a real person. It was a robot...or so Sean said. "If there's a USB port, I-I could connect him to my computer and, um, shut him off that way. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, you do that," Sean said, lifting the sleeping man and carrying him towards Robbie's computer in the corner. "I don't mean to rush you or anything, except I'd love to shut him off ASAP."

As Robbie set up his computer, Sean tried to locate the USB port on the man.

"Does...does he have a name?" Robbie asked.

Sean opened his mouth, thinking. "Well...it's Google IRL, but you say it like I-R-L."

"The company Google? Did they make this?" Robbie exclaimed.

"Yeah, long story. Aha, found it!" Sean declared, pulling up Google IRL's shirt. The USB ports were on Google's back, centered down his spine. Robbie made a face as he attached the USB cables to Google and his computer. He typed a few things on his keyboard and hit enter.

"Powering down," Google IRL drawled, and his voice lowered until it was inaudible. Sean breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Ha, ha...It's finally over."

"I'm glad you feel safer already, but I want an explanation," Robbie said. "You show up to my window carrying two men—"

"Bing!" Sean said suddenly. He got up and ran over to the other guy. "God, I completely forgot about him...how could I let that happen..." He started dragging him over to Robbie's computer. "We need to hook him up, too, that's why I came to you for help. We thought he needed a hospital when really he needs you—"

"We?" Robbie said. "Me? Sean, I'm really gonna need some context because you're kind of scaring me."

"We'll hook him up first, then talk," Sean said. Robbie didn't really have a choice but to agree. As much as he wanted some answers, he knew he'd have to wait.

That was the thing with Sean: he wasn't the type of guy to take things one step at a time. Everything seemed to be happening all at once for him, and it was like he _needed_ to deal with things simultaneously, no breaks. Of course, studies have shown that multitasking is impossible, so sooner or later, he was going to tire out. Considering Sean was secretly a vigilante in his free time, Robbie suspected he was going to burn out soon.

It took them a little longer to find the USB port inside Bing, but they managed it. It was hidden away near the back of his head, tucked under his dark hair.

"Huh..." Sean murmured.

"What?" Robbie said.

"Nothing," Sean said. "It's just...well, don't you think it's weird?"

"Everything about this situation is weird," Robbie said bluntly. "I don't get what you mean, though."

"Right, I didn't explain." Sean bit his lip. "Up until ten minutes ago, I didn't know Bing was a robot. I thought he was a normal person. And then Google IRL showed up and he was so clearly a robot, there wasn't much of a question about it..."

"You don't trust anyone anymore?" Robbie guessed. "You're thinking that if Bing here could pass for human, there's no telling who else is one?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe," Sean said, wringing his hands. "I'm so conflicted."

"If you tell me what's going on, I'm sure I can help," Robbie insisted.

"That's the thing, isn't it?" Sean said. Robbie raised his eyebrow. "I've been getting so much help recently and it's just gonna get everyone hurt..." He sighed, avoiding Robbie's eyes. Robbie decided to get to work on plugging in Bing so Sean would feel more comfortable when he was talking. He found that people were at ease when all the focus wasn't completely on them; it was...almost casual. "From what I knew, I was just responding to an explosion at a park. I didn't know what happened. I got there and Google IRL was fighting Bing. I stepped in, Google escaped, and everyone fled. Bing was the only person still there that had a clue what was going on, so I asked for his help. We talked and agreed to partner up to find Google—exchanged numbers and everything. And then I was with you when I got a text from him."

"That explains some things," Robbie said, nodding. "I'm glad you left. What did he find?"

"I still don't know," Sean confessed. "I was hoping I could ask him when he woke up."

Robbie made a soft "ah".

Sean continued. "His room was in shambles when I got there and he was lying on the floor, bleeding out. His condition was so bad, I really couldn't tell if he was alive—I should have called the cops—"

"They wouldn't have known how to handle it," Robbie said. He looked over the code that made up Bing, trying to understand his programming. "Go on."

"Google was there, waiting for me," Sean said bitterly. "He said something about orders—he was supposed to stop me, probably from helping Bing. We fought, I tossed him out a window, and knocked him out. When I got back to the room, there was another man inside, standing over Bing. He was a doctor; he saved Bing." Sean paused. Robbie snuck a peek at Sean and saw him thinking intently, as if deciding on what he should say. Sean was withholding information from him, so it seemed. It must have been important to Sean.

Tentatively, Robbie asked, "How exactly did he save Bing? You said Bing was bleeding out when you got there, but Bing's barely got scrapes on him. What did the doctor do?"

Sean didn't answer. Robbie pursed his lips and pretended he never asked that question. "Okay, so you meet this doctor. Then what?"

"Bing wouldn't wake up. We thought it was odd because his physical being was healed and he should've woken up by then, but he didn't. Sc—the doctor found wires and everything you'd find in a computer." Sean shook his head. "I don't know what to think anymore. I thought I was dealing with one robot, but two? How could Bing not tell me?"

"I'm not a therapist or any type of life coach," said Robbie, "but I think you should take a breather. You know, one step at a time."

"I'm—"

"Your friend needs help, and if we sit here and twiddle our thumbs, I'm afraid we won't get much done," Robbie persisted. He nodded towards his couch. "While you're here, you may as well get some rest."

"I can't," Sean said. "Someone needs to watch Google and Bing—"

"It's like I'm not even here," Robbie mumbled. "Sean, Google's powered down. I can guarantee he will not wake up. As for Bing, I doubt you'll be much use, unless you understand how programming works." He tried for a smile, but Robbie wanted to go back to his bed. "I'll wake you up when something important happens."

Sean bit his lip, deciding on whether or not he'd go against Robbie. Although he wanted to stay and be there to make sure nothing went wrong, he knew he wouldn't really do much. He wasn't the computer genius; he was just some guy in a suit who solved problems by punching people. Frankly, that felt like everything the city needed of a superhero. Sean lowered his head and laid down on the couch, his hands rested on his stomach.

"Sam?" he said softly. The green eyeball rolled out from behind one of Robbie's many houseplants. The latter turned in his chair and gave a light gasp.

"What is that?"

It only took Sean a minute to reassure Robbie that Sam was a good friend and meant no harm, which he was grateful for. He was so lucky to have met Robbie, who was somehow able to put up with Sean's bullshit and handle a situation with a much needed calmness.

As Sean tried to go to sleep, he was plagued with questions that wouldn't leave him alone. He wanted to know why Bing didn't tell him he was a robot. He wanted to know what Bing found—there had to have been a reason Google was after him, anyway, right? How could he have found him in the first place?

Bing's parts were different from Google's. After a conversation with Google, anybody would be able to pick up on his robot-like mannerisms and appearance. He radiated that vibe of an emotionless being. Even his USB ports were easy to find; it wasn't like he was actively trying to hide what made him a robot. Maybe that's why it's so obvious—Google's programmers didn't want him to blend in with a crowd. They wanted him to stand out against the rest of humanity like a sore thumb.

Bing, on the other hand, was low-key. Dr. Schneeplestein and Sean didn't even see his wires or computer parts at first glance, which should have been blatantly clear if they were treating him for injuries. It took them a second look and pure _luck_ to find anything. The way the wires were made was intricate and well-hidden, incorporated into Bing's appearance—his hair, his eyes, his skin. Put that with Bing's very chill and casual personality and nobody would be able to tell he wasn't a human.

It also occurred to Sean that Bing, too, must have had a developer. Someone with enough prowess in programming to make an artificial AI capable of a casual conversation, worthy of passing any Turing test. Compared to the company Google and their product—Google IRL—Bing seemed to be more...lifelike. He blended in with the crowd, he must have if he was able to live in an apartment and roam Capo for months, unlike Google, who only seemed to surface weeks ago. But where are Bing's developers and why has nobody heard of something like this?

If Google was building a robot like Google IRL, wouldn't that mean they wanted to put them on the market?

So who made Bing and why?

Why were Bing's properties so different from Google's?

_Did Bing—?_

Sean drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think with all this filler I could be a dentist and fill teeth. Also, tfw you tell people to not expect daily updates but then you update daily for 3 days. (Ah, but it'll probably break tomorrow, lbr)
> 
> So! More...uh, answers? Certainly more questions! Who doesn't love questions? I know I do, especially if they eventually get answers! (God I really hope I'll be able to tie some loose knots in this story)
> 
> To make up for lack of quality content, I wrote this chapter a little longer than others. At least, it seemed longer. Really, it could be read in like, 3 minutes and I'd think it'd take 7.
> 
> Also, halfway through writing this, I almost hit the "Post Without Preview" button instead of "Preview" and it gave me a big scare lol, imagine seeing a half-finished chapter and wondering where the heck the rest of it was
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	23. 01000010 01101001 01101110 01100111

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Sean was lightly shaken awake by a very gentle person.

At first, he thought it was Signe, until he realized he was in Robbie's apartment. He blinked and sat up, yawning. As he got into a sitting position, a blanket fell off his chest. Sean's heart jumped; Sam was tucked in one of the folds, sleeping peacefully—Sean could've smashed them if he didn't know. He was also aware that he was still wearing his red suit and blue mask, which meant that Sam hadn't bothered taking it off of him yet.

"Morning," he said to Robbie, who responded in a similar greeting. His eyes were twitching, but he smiled at Sean and showed him the computer.

Beside the setup, Google IRL and Bing were propped up against the wall. Google's head was lolled to one side and vice versa with Bing. The plethora of wires and small cables poking out of Bing's body were bunched together with twist ties. Robbie certainly wanted to tidy up the corner, which Sean almost found hilarious.

"I've finished working on Bing," Robbie said, then cringed. "That sounded bad. Anyway, anything that damaged his system should be gone."

"So he'll be fine?" Sean asked.

Robbie shrugged. "Maybe. I've never really worked on androids before. It's pretty amazing how Bing is able to mimic human emotions so well."

"I guess," Sean said. "Shouldn't Bing be awake if he's fixed?"

"Oh, I have him on sleep, too," Robbie said, turning back to the computer. He clicked a few things and unhooked a USB cable. "He'll wake up in a few seconds. I hope you know what you want to say."

Sean merely hummed. He made sure his mask was on his face and tapped it, preparing himself.

They went silent with anticipation. Jack was expecting Bing to make a Windows powering up noise, or say something similar to Google IRL, like "Rebooting..." but Bing's eyes immediately snapped open wide. He sucked in a deep breath as his hands shot to his face, feeling the skin where claw marks used to be.

"Bing," Jack said. His voice was clipped; he didn't even try to hide his irritation. "Welcome back to the land of the...living."

"Jack," Bing gasped. "I—something happened—my apartment...this...this isn't my apartment—Google—"

The skater's head whipped to the side of him. He took in Google IRL's body next to his and yelped, trying to back away. The wires that were neatly arranged in the twist ties threatened to snap from Bing's head.

"Whoa!" Robbie said, reaching to help disconnect the stray wires from the sides of his computer. "Easy, easy, you're safe here. I'm so stupid, I should've put these back in sooner...Ah, don't touch those..."

This only seemed to disorient Bing, Jack noticed. His eyes were wide with hysteria, his posture tense and afraid. Once the wires were detached, Bing stood up and abruptly backed away from Google. He was breathing like he'd just run a mile. Jack wondered if Bing had ever felt tired or exhausted, or if this was all just him pretending to be human in front of them.

"It's fine, Bing, he's powered down," Jack said, crossing his arms. "He's not your biggest threat at the moment."

"R-Right," Bing said. His body was faced towards Jack yet his eyes were glued to Google IRL. "What do you mean my biggest threat?"

"Actually, I wanted to bring something up before you—" Robbie started, but Jack was already beginning to round on Bing. Bing pried his eyes away from Google just in time to see Jack approaching Bing, fists clenched.

"You kept a secret, Bing," Jack said, stepping forward. In the distance, Sam's body flew into the air curiously. "You didn't lay all your chips on the table—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bing spluttered. "I don't get whatever you're saying! I literally just woke up because a fucking killer robot invaded my apartment—"

"Jack," Robbie said timidly. "I found—"

"You didn't tell me you were—" Jack paused; his jaw was clenched. He found it hard to speak, but he managed to grit his teeth and spat, "We found wires. In your head."

"Wait, my head—?"

"Computer parts _hidden_ under your skin, behind your ear!" Jack yelled. Sam was rushing forward in an instant, floating in front of Jack to stop him from grabbing Bing. "You're not even a human! Just some computer! What were you designed to do, huh? Spy? On me? What's your deal?"

"What's my deal? What's _your_ deal?" Bing retaliated. "I can't be a robot, or else I'd be just like Google—"

"Bing," Robbie said, his voice firm. "I'm sorry, but..."

He held up the wires and cables to his face. His computer displayed a wall of code, but at the very top, it was titled _Bing_.

Up until then, Jack thought Bing was aware of the wires, the cables, the computer parts, but looking at Bing's expression of pure shock, he saw he was wrong. Bing didn't _see_ the cables until now. He didn't know.

 _He didn't_ know.

Bing staggered back like he was punched in the gut. His hands flew to the spot behind his ears and tugged at some wires. With a small spark, he ripped one from his head and held it in front of him. His mouth opened in horror. "No..."

All of the anger inside Jack washed away, replaced with a tidal wave of regret and pity. Regret, for the misplaced distrust, for his unnecessary disposition. Pity, for whatever Bing was going through.

Robbie set the wires down next to Google. "You didn't know you were a robot, did you?"

"I'm...I knew...I _know_ I'm a human," Bing whispered. "I can't be a robot. I've lived my whole life... _my whole life_..."

"Maybe you should sit down," Jack offered, biting his lip. "We can talk about this."

His face was void of emotion as he settled into the nearest seat. Just like a robot's. The wire he pulled from his head was clutched tightly in his fist. Robbie exchanged nervous glances with Jack, then cleared his throat. "You lived your entire life unaware that you weren't human. I don't want to be the one to say this, but that is impossible."

"It's not impossible," Bing said, profusely shaking his head. "I remember things from my childhood—I remember graduating—"

"What school did you graduate from?" Robbie asked innocently.

"It was...um," Bing said, frowning. He closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, as if trying to remember something. Jack understood: he was trying to remember something that didn't exist. "I-I can't remember."

Robbie hesitated, then asked, "What about your parent's names?"

"My parents?" Bing said. He paused. He was opening his mouth, but no words were coming out. He was stuttering, hoping that if he could start his sentence, the answers would come to him in the middle of it. "I...their names...they were..." 

"It's not gonna come to you," Robbie said. Even he seemed to be having trouble speaking, something Jack never thought could happen. "Your memories are fake; they never existed and never could have. Whoever your developer was must have planted them there to prevent you from thinking about them—"

"This doesn't make any sense!" Bing yelled. Jack's leg twitched, ready to jump up and restrain Bing. "I can't go my entire life without thinking about these things—"

He looked like he wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Couldn't because he was a robot, Jack supposed was the case, which brung up another good question: Were any of Bing's emotions real? Whatever he was feeling, could it be classified as a human emotion, or something generated based on how humans react? It made Jack's head hurt just thinking about it. He couldn't help Bing because he didn't know what was going on. The only person who seemed to have a clue was Robbie, who was trying to reason with Bing. Jack stayed silent throughout most of the conversation; he was, once again, utterly helpless.

"It must be hard to understand this," Robbie was saying. "I assure you, we'll try our best to find out what's going on, but first, you should tell us what you do remember. What happened at the apartment?"

Jack's ears perked at this. Finally, something he could contribute to.

Bing winced, recalling the events of last night. He took a deep breath and started. "I was searching for leads on Google IRL: where he might be, where he came from, anything I could get my hands on. I figured any information we found on him would help you." He glanced at Jack. "After an hour of searching, I finally found a few emails between Google employees, talking about 'The Veraque'. A couple of emails later and I found a link one of them sent."

"The Veraque?" Jack said. "I've never heard of that before."

"No, duh," Bing said, rolling his eyes. Jack frowned; so Bing was back to his usual self, huh? It didn't take that long. Jack was a little taken aback, but wondered if it was because Bing couldn't mimic emotions _that_ well, to the point where they continued after the initial shock. Or maybe he was hiding his feelings behind his personality. "It's supposed to be low-key. The Veraque was just the name for a warehouse near Capo City."

"I could check it out later," Jack said helpfully. "We can see what's inside and—"

Bing shook his head. "Nah, there's nothing left there anymore."

"Anymore...?"

"The video I saw was displaying surveillance cameras of the entire warehouse," Bing explained. He started fiddling with his thumbs, then tore his hands apart and kept them at his sides. "There were bodyguards all over the place—just outside, down the halls. Around midnight, the cameras bugged out. It was just a second, but I saw a figure—" He flinched; he seemed to be suppressing his fear. "Then all the cameras went staticky. When they came back, the bodyguards outside were all dead. Their throats were cut and they had stab wounds in their stomachs.

"There was another quick movement on the camera there. A man made from shadows appeared in the screen, then winked out with the static. Next thing I see, he was inside the warehouse, running down the halls with just a knife." His sigh was resigned. "He killed everybody there. Nobody survived."

"That's incredibly disturbing," Robbie said. "What did the man do afterwards?"

"He entered the only room that didn't have a camera inside it," Bing said. "Probably because it's _that_ secret. But we know what it is, obviously."

"Google IRL," Jack finished. The three of them looked to the robot by the computer, disturbed. All that bloodshed just for him. Some stupid robot that was made to answer questions. "God, I'm starting to hate him even more."

"He showed up at my apartment," Bing said. "Kicked my ass, broke my goddamn skateboard in half—"

"I saw that," Jack said.

"I was barely conscious by that time. Just when things couldn't get any _worse_ , he showed up. The man made of shadows. That mass murderer was standing above me, ordering Google around. He told me we'd heard his name before during my first encounter with Google at the park. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner."

"I remember his name," Jack said suddenly. He snapped his fingers. "Antisepticeye."

At the mention of his name, several things happened.

Bing flinched and shut his eyes. Once again, his hands reached for his face and went over the claw marks near his temples, as if they were still fresh in his memory. Sam rolled out from behind Jack and thudded against the floor like a fish flopping on dry land.

"Sam?" Jack said, picking up the green eyeball. "What's wrong?"

Another voice was starting to speak, but it was cold and monotonous.

"You figured it out," Google IRL said from the corner. Jack jumped up and balled his fists, ready to fight, but the robot simply laid there, unmoving. His face was relatively blank. "Congratulations."

"Not this again," Jack muttered. "Do I have to knock you out again?"

"It is unnecessary," Google IRL said. "The computer is rendering me unable to move."

"But you're mouth is moving, and I don't like that," Jack retorted.

"It's nothing to worry about, Jack," Robbie said from behind him. "He's not going anywhere."

"Good," Jack said. "So you respond to Antisepticeye, huh? That's who you take orders from?"

"Correct," Google IRL said.

"Am I right in assuming he gave you the order to destroy mankind?"

"You are, once again, correct," Google IRL said. "But my primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible."

"We know," Jack said crossly. "Why is that your primary objective? Why not have 'destroy mankind' as your first?"

"It could have been like that to go undetected," Robbie suggested. "If you know the primary objective, what are the chances you ask for a secondary?"

"You are incorrect in your theory. That goes against my programming," Google IRL said, eyes darting to Robbie. "My primary objective is one of the few things that cannot be changed about me and is constant. Also, the likelihood of asking for a secondary objective is thirty-three percent." His eyes rested onto Bing's seething form. "Ah, Bingiplier. We meet again."

"Go f*ck yourself," was all Bing said.

"Denied," Google IRL stated bluntly.

"All that trouble just to get a piece of scrap like you," Bing hissed. "Why'd he do it?"

"That information is unbeknownst to me," Google IRL said, frowning. His facial expressions were surprisingly human, as if he were truly puzzled by his answer.

"Is there any way to shut you off?" Jack asked. "Permanently?"

"I cannot answer that question," Google IRL said. "Only my creator can."

"Where's your creator?" Robbie prompted. "Do you have a location?"

"I—" The robot's glasses flashed. "Redacted. Come back later."

"Fuck," Jack cursed. "He was about to tell us, too! Robbie, can you hack into Google and work around this? It's getting pretty annoying when the thing that was made to answer questions can't even do that."

"I'm on it," Robbie said, rushing to his computer. "Sorry about this, Google, but I'm not actually sorry." He forced shutdown. Once Google IRL's eyes closed, Robbie began to furiously type, walls of text blinking into view. "This might take a while. Hang tight."

"Oh, you know us," Bing said sarcastically. "We're the patient type."

As Robbie worked on that, Jack held Sam in his hand as he spoke with Bing.

"Are you okay?" Jack said. "Learning that your entire existence is made up must be unbearable—"

"Yeah, I'd rather not think about that," Bing said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "Besides, if I'm a robot, that must mean I don't really _feel_ things, right?" He laughed without humor. "Knowing that my emotions aren't real, just like the rest of me, is okay—"

"But it's not," Jack said. "You're still a person, even though you're made of metal. Your feelings came from somewhere, and it doesn't matter if they were programmed into you. What's important is that you feel things just like everyone else."

"That's the thing, Jack," Bing muttered. "I don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Buddy, your words are kind, but now that I think about it, I feel more robotic than ever. My emotions don't feel complicated the way yours might be. They feel so...basic. I can't even cry."

"That might be a good thing," Jack tried.

Bing stared at him. "Crying? Please, I'd rather be able to cry than be a hollow, soulless thing. Even feeling pain would be better than feeling nothing. And I guess that's why I'm a thrill-seeker. My life's so meaningless and bland because of my lack of true empathy that I'll go through anything just to feel a sense of worth." His gaze was distant, staring through Jack. Jack wondered what Bing could see that he, himself, couldn't. Or, what Bing couldn't see that Jack could. "I hate to say this, and I know it's wrong, but I don't regret anything. Google IRL attacking me in my own apartment is the kind of dangerous life I wanna live everyday. That doesn't mean I want to get hurt or even harm myself," he added quickly, seeing Jack's concerned face. "I just want to _live_."

Jack nodded slowly. "I think I understand."

Bing's face lit up. "Really? Awesome, I didn't expect you to. It's not that you're an imbecile, but it's just that."

 _And he's back._ "Wow."

They shared a laugh. This time, Jack wasn't too worried about whether or not Bing could experience humor the way he could. He was more worried about Google IRL and their newest named threat: Antisepticeye.

Although he'd never seen the dude, he knew he was bad news. What kind of man would kill an entire warehouse of people? Just thinking about it sent chills down Jack's spine.

"I think we've been through enough," Jack said.

"Whaddya mean?" Bing said, raising his eyebrows.

"I can trust you," Jack said. "You've showed us your true self, so it's only natural I do the same. Sam, mask off."

As soon as Sam perked up, a loud explosion went off, causing the windows of the apartment to rattle ominously. The sound was a good half a mile away, but it was like startling enough to scare the birds perched on nearby buildings. They flew into the sky in a blind panic.

"What the fuck was that noise?" said Robbie, covering his ears. "Did I just hear an explosion?"

"Yeah," Jack said loudly. "I gotta go check it out! Sam, with me!"

"It could be a gas leak!" Bing suggested. "Or, you know, domestic terrorism! If it's any consolation, at least it's not Google!"

"Wow, I feel so much better already!" Jack said. They climbed out the window. The last time he'd flown, he was carrying two heavy guys. Now that he was flying by himself, he was going to feel so much lighter. "I'll be back shortly!" he called to Bing and Robbie, before he jumped out the window, for what was the second time this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That turned out better than I thought.
> 
> So yeah, part of Bing's story is revealed. I'm hoping his explanation isn't too weird or too meh. He's kind of on a journey of self-discovery, to find out what it means to be alive. I'd love to hear more theories on Bing and Google; there's a storm brewing.
> 
> And an explosion? In downtown Capo City? What could have caused such a thing! Find out next time on Dragon Ball Z.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'll see you at the end of the next chapter!


	24. Lost Boy

The streets of Capo City, especially uptown areas, weren't packed with too many people. Despite this, street performers often flocked to these areas to get away from the competition they would face downtown, which often only moved the competition to the area.

One street always remained Marvin's best performing spot—Athrú Street. It wasn't well known and performers usually found nicer places to set up, but Marvin liked the people there. The owner of Dress Dapper! was a charming guy who let Marvin stay outside his tailor store and do his magic tricks. He joked that Marvin could stay there so long as he advertised for his shop, except Marvin took his offer seriously and carried a sign with him. The first week he had performed there, passerby on Athrú Street knew his name and tipped him well. He twirled the sign once, which soon got him more attention. Sometimes he told jokes and did stand-up comedy right there; whatever the case, it all worked out well for him.

When Marvin took breaks throughout the day, the owner would sit on a stool outside his shop when work was slow and sing. He had a wonderful voice that allowed for him to sing many genres of music: punk, soul, classical, etc. Apparently he was famous for his voice.

One day, Marvin set up his boxes and was pulling on his cat mask when he noticed that the owner hadn't set up his shop yet. The sign on the window remained a firm CLOSED and the inside was dark. The door was still locked.

He figured the man was sick and couldn't open for the day, so Marvin wasn't worried. He did his usual performance and let by ten in the evening.

The man was not there the next day, either. He must've been _really_ sick. Marvin repeated his routine—although it was less energetic—packed up, and left.

Marvin decided to investigate by the fifth day. From what he understood, the owner's residence was on the second floor of the shop. Before he set up, he went around the back of the building, grabbed a pin from the cape around his neck, and picked the lock on the backdoor.

"I'm gonna regret this," he muttered as he turned the door open. His eyes darted around the first floor of Dress Dapper! Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, as expected.

"Jameson?" he called, looking at the ceiling. "You there? Your store is getting dusty!"

There was no response. How awkward of Marvin. The magician frowned and tried again. "Jameson, you've been gone for five days! We're all worried!"

He didn't know who "we" was because nobody else seemed bothered at Jameson's disappearance, but Marvin hoped that it would draw him out of his place. Unfortunately, it didn't, and he felt like an even bigger fool. He really should leave before someone catches him for being somewhere he shouldn't be.

"Oh, that's fine, don't answer me," he mumbled, walking to the front door. Then he realized he entered through the back and that he should go out the way he came in. As he turned on his heel, he noticed a speck of red on the counter beside him, where the cash register was.

His stomach dropped. Did someone else break in? Marvin checked the cash register; it was full of paper money and various coins. Anyone who wanted to rob a place would've gone for the cash, so that couldn't be it. He couldn't think of anything else other than...

He crouched down and examined the floor. There were light drops of dried blood, faint and old. This didn't make sense to him. Jameson didn't have any enemies, as far he as knew, and he couldn't have been robbed. Was it possible that he was kidnapped? Or just missing?

The next day, Marvin filed a missing persons report and printed out a bunch of flyers. It caught the attention of everyone who knew Jameson as the man who sang for them, but by the next week, nobody was searching. The police were telling Marvin that they were still searching for him, but they gave him less information as time passed, and soon he heard nothing from them. For all they knew, Jameson left the face of the earth; it wasn't illegal to disappear, as long as they didn't break any laws. He could have went dark or started a new life, but Marvin knew better. He knew the guy wouldn't just up and go, not without a warning. It was foul play, for sure.

Marvin couldn't pass by Dress Dapper! without feeling a twinge of guilt for his missing friend. The passerby must have felt his sadness, too. They either strayed from his performances or tipped him a hefty amount and told him they hoped he'll feel better soon.

"I won't stop," Marvin promised, looking inside of Dress Dapper! If he imagined hard enough, Jameson would be sitting on his stool, sewing up suits. But his imagination could only run so far. "You will be found, so help me if I die searching."

~***~

After an explosion goes off, it's not too hard to find. Usually there's a ton of smoke billowing from wherever it came from, and there are ambulances wailing in the streets, along with cop cars.

Jack was getting better at his vigilante job because he spotted the explosion within a minute of searching the skies. There was heavy fog wafting into the air, high enough that Jack could wave his hands and the smoke would part around it. He dropped like a stone towards the ground and touched down near the ambulances.

There were people crying out to him. Most of the public understood he was there to help, so they parted around him, giving him space. There was already a man lying in the back of the ambulance, a mask on his face to help with breathing. His dark skin was covered in soot. A paramedic was tending to his burns, giving the driver instructions; Jack remembered the first time he was seen in action, when he burned most of his upper body.

"What happened?" he asked the paramedic.

"We don't know yet," she answered. "We're lucky we got here this fast, but there are more people in the building than out here."

"I'm on it," Jack said.

She handed him a mask that looked like something the firefighters would wear. "You need to wear this if you don't want to die."

"Right," he said, slipping it over his mouth. "Thanks! Take care." He nodded to Sam, who joined Jack a second later as he ran towards the building. "We've gotta carry people out. Think you can lift a few people?"

They bobbed up and down. Jack tore through the wreckage, finding men and women buried underneath piles of rubble. He carried three at a time, with Sam doing their best to lift people by one arm and drag them through the air.

By the time the firefighters got there, Jack had covered half of the building and wasn't stopping. After ten minutes of heavy lifting, everyone inside was safely out, but they were going to need medical assistance. The good news is that everyone survived; there were no casualties.

The cause of the explosion was, nevertheless, unknown. Jack talked with some of the police who showed up and gathered that it might have been foul play, but they wouldn't know for sure until they did a thorough investigation. Most signs, however, were pointing to a gas leak.

Before Jack and Sam left, they were swarmed by onlookers. It wasn't that Jack didn't think it would happen—he just wanted to leave so he could go back to Robbie and Bing. Instead, he forced himself to politely smile and shake people's hands. They even wanted to meet with Sam, who was starting to be recognized as Jack's little sidekick. Everyone seemed to think Sam was adorable (which was true, Jack admitted).

"Sorry," he kept insisting. "I've gotta go."

"Can I take a picture with you?" a boy asked. "I wanna show all my friends I met a superhero!"

"Sure," Jack said reluctantly, holding up a peace-sign. The boy grinned and snapped the picture. "Okay, I should leave already—"

Someone bumped into him. He turned around to say sorry when he felt someone grab his hand and slip something into it. He pulled back instinctively and opened his hand, staring at a piece of paper with an address on it. "Huh?" He whipped his head around, searching for the person who gave him the paper. Nobody around him was bothered by this; they didn't notice because they were too busy trying to pull their phones out.

Now that he was thoroughly creeped out, Jack gave one last goodbye and launched himself into the air, flying away from the crowd. Sam was floating up, joining him. Jack showed them the paper.

"What do you think of this?" Jack asked them. Sam did a shrug. Jack scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It might be important. Maybe. I'll search the address when we get back to Robbie's. They'll want to know about this, I'm sure."

They blasted off to the apartment.

~***~

Waiting for Jack to get back was boring as all hell. Bing didn't know Robbie like he knew Jack—which also wasn't too long. He didn't think he had anything in common with the dude, or anything worth talking about. Besides, Robbie was busy scanning the numerous walls of code inside Google IRL, and Bing was anxious to move on, so he kept to himself.

He never liked the quiet before. He always wanted to be around people, around a loud place where lots of things were going on. He could busy himself with things around him. With the quiet, there was nothing to do, nobody to talk to, nothing to eavesdrop on. The quiet left him to his thoughts, something he found hard to focus on. Reflecting was a challenge, and now that he knew he was a robot, it started to make sense. Whoever programmed him probably made him that way—to be attracted to noise so he couldn't think about himself or his existence. It was just to keep him distracted.

"So..." Bing blurted. He cursed himself; he couldn't take back his word. Robbie acknowledged him with a distant nod. "How's it going?"

"It's going well," Robbie answered promptly. "I think I can work around it in no time. Five, ten minutes, perhaps?"

"Cool beans," Bing said. "Uh, if there's anything I can do—"

"I'll let you know," Robbie said. "I _am_ interested in discussing your programming later. We can talk about that when I'm finished."

Bing pursed his lips into a thin line. "Thanks," he said meekly.

"It's not your fault at all," Robbie said suddenly. He paused and typed out a long string of text and scrolled down the screen. "About you not knowing you were an android...I heard your conversation with Jack earlier..."

Bing forced a laugh. "I didn't think a dude like you would eavesdrop."

"We were in the same room, and you talk loud," Robbie explained. "I had no choice but to hear it—stop changing the subject! Your emotions may seem superficial and fabricated, but they will always be real. You may not feel or be able to express them like a human; however, it doesn't stop you from not feeling at all."

"Yeah, Jack told me that, too, dude," Bing said, rolling his eyes. "Or something like that. I can't remember. Thanks, I guess."

"Of course," said Robbie. He tilted his head to the side. Bing couldn't see his face from his chair, but he would've guessed Robbie was frowning. "Hmm."

"'Hmm'?" Bing repeated. "What's that mean? You found something?" He joined the dude at the computer, trying to avoid Google IRL's limp body next to the desk.

"I don't know if you can read code—"

"I really can't," Bing said.

"There's something intriguing about his," Robbie said, his voice in awe. "I've studied yours, and it's very sophisticated and complex. While Google IRL's is much like yours, his code contains something rather _peculiar_."

"Well, what does that mean?" Bing asked.

"It's, ah, hard to explain. These lines of code are..." Robbie scrunched up his face, trying to find the words. "They don't feel like a robot."

"How would you know what a robot feels like?"

"As in, they don't have that 'robot' vibe. I've studied a lot of computers and robots, even worked for Apple. In all my time spent there, I've never seen an anomaly like this. Google's code behaves irrationally, yet rational at the same time. His code switches from machine to something almost _independent_ at random times. It's very..." Robbie trailed off.

Bing was never a good listener, nor an intelligent being. However, Robbie explained enough for Bing to know what he was going to say. He heard the word in his head—it was a single question. It was unsettling to think of Google IRL that way.

He couldn't dwell on it too long, because Google IRL's body started to vibrate. Robbie gave a shout of surprise and pushed off in his chair, backing up to the wall. Bing swore and noticed it wasn't censored; Google IRL was still powered down.

So why was he vibrating?

"Robbie, you wanna do something? Like _now_?" Bing shouted.

The dude was too freaked out to approach the computer. He shook his head adamantly. "I-I don't know what's going on, I didn't do anything bad—"

There was a hissing noise a second later. Google IRL's body turned translucent, and he turned into a bunch of pixels and disappeared right before their eyes.

"NO!" Robbie and Bing yelled. They rushed forward; Bing towards the spot where Google IRL had previously been, Robbie towards his computer. The cables that were connected to Google dropped to the floor, clacking against the tile.

"Damn it," Bing murmured. He waved his hand in the spot where Google IRL sat, as if he had simply turned invisible. That was not the case. The dude was completely gone, dematerialized and everything. "What the fuck just happened?"

His mind flashed him an image at the park. He was facing off against Google IRL when Jack showed up to break it up. Google IRL said something and vanished the same way he had just now.

"Were you aware he could do that before now?" Robbie said in a distraught voice. He raked a hand through his purple hair. His cheeks were flushed.

"He did it at the park when we first met," Bing recalled. "Fuck, I should've expected this."

"It's fine, it's fine," Robbie said, though it was not fine. "We just have to learn from our mistakes next time. If I had known he was a technopath..."

"Technopath," Bing echoed. "Like, a telepath?"

"A technopath is someone who controls technology with their mind," Robbie said, banging his head on the desk. Bing was tempted to stop him, except he didn't want to test how much longer Robbie could hold in his frustration. "Google must've transferred his body into the form of pixels and escaped through something tech-based."

"How do we stop something that controls technology?" Bing demanded. "That's literally impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible," Robbie muttered. "Ah, man, how am I gonna tell this to Jack?"

"Tell me what?"

 _Speak of the fucking devil,_ Bing thought. Jack was hovering outside Robbie's window, struggling to pry it open. It seemed to be stuck half-open. Bing helped him open it.

"Ah, well, bad news," Robbie said, turning his palms up nervously. "We..."

Jack's eyes narrowed as he stepped into the apartment. "Where's Google...?" he asked slowly.

Robbie was struggling to respond. Bing decided to break the news; it was easier, seeing as his emotions weren't as muddled. "He escaped. We lost him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mission failed. We'll get 'em next time. 
> 
> PFFT, "Lost Boy" more like "Lost Bois"
> 
> Finally, some light has been shed on the last two Septic Egos! HmMMMM. That explosion turned out to be nothing suspeeeshy, but that note with an address...interesting. And Google escapes once again, ripppp. At least they learned some new information on him...
> 
> Thank you to the guests and users who have dropped a kudos and wrote comments on this story! Your support is greatly appreciated! Stay tuned for the next chapter!


	25. All The Stars

Nothing seemed to be going their way.

Robbie was biting his lip as he studied the computer, wondering why he didn't notice Google IRL's powers until it was too late.

Bing had already retired for the day, unable to deal with more bullshit. He went back to his apartment, making up a feeble excuse that he needed to fix his skateboard and shades.

While Jack wanted him to stay, he knew it was probably best to keep Bing away from everything, after all he's been through. Jack couldn't afford for another friend to get dragged into his mess. It was his duty to keep people safe, not put them in harm's way. So he let the dude go.

Once Bing left the apartment room, Robbie insisted that Jack take a break and just be Sean. There was nothing Jack could do except wait for Robbie to find Google, and that was going to take lots of time. Plus, facing off against Google would be hard. Jack had to be at his very best to even match Google again.

"What about you? Don't you need a break?" Sean asked. "If you're so insistent on—"

"I will, because I'm a responsible person," Robbie assured. "I, at least, know when to take breaks, and when to stop poking a bear that's not there."

"What does that even mean?" Sean muttered. "Okay, fine, I'll 'rest up'."

"Good. A day of rest and we'll get back to it."

Sean left for his floor, changed out of his suit, and eyed the piece of paper with the address written on it. Sam promptly fell asleep in their bird bed; they seemed more stressed out these days, not that Sean could blame them. So many things had happened recently that it was hard to slow down and get some R&R. Deep in his gut, Sean knew the days were going to become even more of a struggle with even more problems to handle. Speaking of problems, he promised he'd look up the mysterious address, so he punched the place into his computer and looked at the location. It was a small park on the outskirts of Capo City, with the sea resting beside it. It sounded innocent enough, but he didn't want to go, as much as he was intrigued. It could've been someone looking for trouble.

He didn't even consult Robbie or ask him for advice. _Nah,_ he didn't have to involve Robbie even more. That would be selfish of Sean, and he didn't want Robbie to think less of him. It was bad enough he had the guy plug two robots into his computer (one of which wanted to destroy mankind). He'd be testing his limits if he were to ask Robbie for anymore favors.

His stomach growled. Sean scavenged his wallet for some cash. A few people he had saved were kind enough to pay him as a thanks, which he kind of felt guilty about. Still, the way they insisted, like it was their honor to give him some of their money...Sean found himself accepting it. At least with this money, he could buy some takeout at that Korean restaurant near his apartment.

Instead, he ran into Signe when the elevator doors opened. They greeted each other in a friendly manner—were they friends?—and struck up a small conversation.

"Where are you off to?" Sean asked curiously.

"I was on my way to the roof," she said, pointing up with her free hand. Her other hand was holding a bag of food. "I'm planning on staying up there until midnight to stargaze. Wanna join me?"

 _You should take a break,_ his mind said.

Sean shrugged. He could always get Korean takeout another day. "Yeah, sure."

"Awesome." Signe moved to the side, let him in the elevator, and closed the doors.

Once they were on the roof, the sun was starting to set, casting a beautiful, orange hue with just a twinge of pink across the sky. Signe pulled two folding chairs out from behind the elevator shack and laid them out. She grabbed a bag of chips and reclined in her chair. Sean, who was still standing like an idiot, quickly set his chair up. He didn't know if he should set his up right next to her, so he gave her some space and sat a few feet away, so that the basket was between them.

They talked for hours, waiting for the sky to light up with thousands of stars. Apparently, Signe was knowledgable on the constellations—she was eagerly pointing them out to Sean, explaining the stories behind them and when they showed up. Sean patiently listened to her every word. His heart fluttered; hearing her talk about something with so much passion made her eyes light up, brighter than any star she could show him. Her smile was contagious, because soon he found himself smiling with her. Somehow, being around Signe gave him a peace he never thought he could have.

"Do you do this often?" he asked her when she finished explaining Ursa Minor. "Stargaze on the roof, I mean."

"Ah, kind of," she said, blushing. "I come up here to water my plants daily, but I always stargaze when I'm feeling lost, or if I need to get away from the world. Up here, nothing can bother me. I can just...relax and let my worries slip away."

"I see," Sean said. "Why did you come up here tonight?"

"I just felt...I don't know. I get lonely," Signe admitted. She thought for a second, then laughed. "It's funny, isn't it? I feel lonely and to stop it, I go to a roof to get _away_ from people."

"But you invited me," Sean pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess I did," Signe said, embarrassed. "I...you don't have to stay here any longer. I can tell you've got better things to do."

"No, no, that's not true," Sean protested. "I want to be here. I want to hear you go on about the stars."

Signe was right, though. Sean _did_ have important things to do. He had to investigate the address, he had to find Google IRL, he had a city to patrol, he had citizens to save. The responsibility was daunting. Every second he spent towards other things was a second he could've been out there helping people. However, Sean was also right. He wanted to spend the rest of his night up on the roof with Signe. Truly, he did. He wanted to hear her ramble about the little things, wanted to be in her presence. Compared to what his life was like now, she was exactly what he missed. What he needed.

She looked down, almost shamefully. "You're too kind. I don't deserve this." 

"What?" Sean said. He didn't seem to have heard her.

The corners of her mouth twitched, like a half smile. "Nothing, haha. You want to hear more stories about the stars, huh?"

"All of them," Sean agreed earnestly.

"All the stars," Signe mused to herself. "You know you're gonna be here for a _looong_ time, right?"

Sean smiled. "I'm counting on it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: All The Stars by SZA, Kendrick Lamar
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvOh7vVqlaE
> 
> This song was actually what made me want to write a superhero story, funnily enough. The song doesn't even have to do with superhero-ish things, but listening to it when the Black Panther credits rolled filled me with good vibes. A feeling I can't explain xD
> 
> I also needed to develop their relationship more, so here it is. Writing romance isn't really my forte and I really don't want to screw this relationship up. (I hope it works out well.)
> 
> The next chapter will be interesting. It was supposed to be Chapter 25, but then I added this scene to _that_ chapter and felt that this should've come first. What I mean is that original Chapter 25 got pushed to Chapter 26. Haha, okay. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit: Sorry if you got another notification for this chapter. I wanted to fix some stuff (mostly typos). Nothing drastic changed! If it did, I'd probably let you know. Okay take care lol


	26. Cogito, Ergo Sum.

When you've got no place to go home to, you'll often find yourself wandering aimlessly.

The cords that had kept Google IRL from moving freely were gone, but it felt like he was trapped. He let his programming switch to auto-pilot and a second later, Google IRL found himself staring at a warehouse. The skyline of Capo City rested behind his back; from here, the lights were soft and hazy. The city was a safe haven.

Before him, the warehouse was desolate. Google IRL could see lights littering around the building, but they weren't turned on. The wind that blew past him was cold, merciless, and bitter.

 _There's nothing here for you,_ a part of him was saying. _Return to your master at once._

He nodded numbly and looked to the utility pole—that was how he got here, right? Just a simple piece of technology, useful for transportation. At least, for something like him. As he was preparing to leave, another voice stopped him in his tracks.

 _You must walk in,_ it said. The voice felt familiar. It closely resembled Google's, but he knew it was a completely different person's voice. _You need to see._

His glasses flashed. Words were appearing above the building, letter by letter. It read: The Veraque.

_Go forward._

Google IRL's footsteps were sluggish. Each step forward towards the warehouse was met with an invisible force, trying to shove him back. As he approached the door, a gray blanket covered the building, and he was in a simulation. Google IRL saw people holding rifles, standing around the building. He recognized them as guards—their eyes were attentive, their posture firm. One by one, they collapsed, their bodies dematerializing into pixels. Back into his mind like a storage container. The gray landscape melted away, letting him back into the present.

Google IRL kept pushing on until he was inside the place. It was covered in complete darkness. The simulation came back. It wasn't in greyscale this time. There were red lights flashing, more guards rushing down the halls. The simulation was too fake to show the detail in their eyes, yet their composure was enough to tell the story. The time it took them to die was slower than what happened outside.

 _Why am I seeing this?_ Google IRL thought. No, that wasn't possible. He couldn't "think". He analyzed, he studied. He formed conclusions based on what he saw. But he did not think for himself. His programming didn't allow for individual thoughts.

Keep going, the voice said gently. It was becoming louder. It sounded...human. Empathetic.

 _Leave this place now!_ the other voice hissed. It began to sound like Antisepticeye; it shared the same malicious tone.

Google IRL pressed on. He wandered down the endless hallways, taking complicated twists and turns until he ended up at a barricaded door. There was a keypad next to it. In this hallway, there was a static in the air. Humans often left traces behind the places they visited—joy, sadness, fear. The amount of pain he sensed almost knocked him off his feet.

_What do you feel?_

Google IRL hesitated, then spoke aloud. "I do not feel."

The voice was resigned. _Then what do you infer happened here?_

"There's danger in the air," Google IRL said, eyes darting around slowly. "The sense is old. This warehouse has been deserted for weeks."

_Yes, it has. This is where they kept your body._

Google IRL poked the keypad with his finger.

The keypad turned green. The door slid open with a soft hiss. Like every other part of the warehouse, this room was barren and starting to collect dust.

_Look again._

He was overcome with another simulation, except the only thing new was a human-sized box in the middle of the room.

Google IRL recognized it. He spent a week lying inside the wooden coffin. It was a tight fit; he was barely able to move inside. The memories of being in the building were suddenly flooding back to him, first in small waves, quickly rising into a tsunami. He could remember being put together, piece by piece, and then being shipped off to The Veraque. There were muffled voices talking outside the box. They were analyzing Google IRL, checking on his conditions.

He was starting to feel something again. He grit his teeth. It was frustration. How could they not think about him? What he was—

 _Stop!_ the harsh voice commanded. The memories faded instantly. _This is not pertinent information. You need to listen to me, Google. I know what's best for you. This place won't do you good._

"I understand." Google IRL grabbed the keypad, concentrating.

 _It didn't work,_ the other voice said. It sounded discouraged. _I thought it would've. Well, let's try again._

Google IRL turned into pixels and vanished.

~***~

Next, he appeared on the side of the road. He was facing a park. It was dark out, so the only light sources were from the dim streetlights which he came from and the occasional passing of cars. In front of him, there was a crater in the ground with scorch marks teetering at the edges. Yellow tape was strung up around the scene. Although it seemed off limits, there were no law enforcement officers around, as well as regular people. It took him less than second to pinpoint the location as the skatepark where he caused a small explosion and committed domestic terrorism.

"This is where I met Bingiplier," Google IRL said to himself. "Why am I here?"

_Allow me to show you._

He let himself slip into the simulation. When he opened his eyes, it was daytime, around noon, judging from the fake sun in the sky. He saw a gray version of himself scanning the park, searching for something. A figure was approaching him from behind, tinted an annoyingly bright shade of orange. Bingiplier speeded towards the old Google IRL. The real Google IRL stepped closer for a better look. Bingiplier's face was seething, unusual for a robot. He showed a lot of emotion.

Behind Bingiplier, teenagers were running away from the park out of fear for their lives. Even the local animals like pigeons and stray cats were fleeing to a safer location.

So why did Bingiplier ignore all sense and prepare to fight him? It was a losing battle, wasn't it? He must have known that as he charged, or perhaps he didn't, and he was looking for a fight. Likewise, it appeared that Bingiplier had no regard for his safety.

The old Google IRL and Bingiplier fought for a minute. Google IRL broke his shades, they grappled with the skateboard, and Bing hit him in the head with it. The dude didn't want to give up. He was filled with a burning fire, stoked by Google IRL's taunts about his wits and smarts.

As he watched on, Google IRL found himself intrigued and perplexed. Bingiplier didn't know he was a robot, despite the clear signs pointing towards it. Is that why he felt emotions? Because he was given them? Or because he lived like one, surrounded by humans, so much that he adapted to his surroundings?

"I do not understand," Google IRL said. "Human emotions are something I am unable to imagine. The thought...escapes me."

 _Ah. But there's a thought,_ the voice said hopefully. _You're thinking. You just have to keep going. Please, Google, don't you feel something—?_

Google IRL's face turned to stone. "I do not feel or think. I am able to simulate the appearance of empathy, but it is not real."

_Good, good, _the colder voice murmured. _Going against your programming only makes things worse. It's suicide. Return to Antisepticeye immediately.___

__Letters flashed across his vision: Return to Antisepticeye._ _

_Don't go there, he'll hurt you again. You need to trust me._

_You'll misplace that trust! Anti is who you answer to, not this—_

Google IRL closed his eyes and returned to the streetlights. He wanted to escape the voices, who now decided to argue with each other. The louder their voices were, the louder the white noise in his head grew. It was distracting, making it hard to—

 _No._ He focused hard on somewhere else to wander to and blinked away.

~***~

__  
Inside the apartment, Bingiplier was running around, tidying his place up. Google IRL watched through the screen of his TV curiously. If he stayed in the TV, the white noise blended in with the sound of deafening silence. A weird concept, but Google IRL would not question it. After all, it was better not to question anything. It made life easier that way.  


Bingiplier viciously scrubbed his carpets with bleach and paper towels, hoping to get rid of the rest of the bloodstains. There were bottles of glue scattered on the coffee table, which was suspiciously mended together. His skateboard was lying on his couch; Bingiplier kept pushing the two halves of the board together. He must have been trying to keep the glue on as it dried up. Once he quit scrubbing his carpet, he grabbed a roll of duct tape and ripped a long piece of tape off. Google IRL watched with mild irritation as Bingiplier covered the dents in his walls with duct tape, as if that would hide the damage done to them. It only made it more noticeable and ugly. 

_Good Lord, he's an actual idiot._

_Finish the job, Google IRL. Kill the skater._

_Don't do it, Google, it's not right. We can't kill people, that's not who we are—_

_Murder's only wrong if you get caught, and we won't get caught._

Google IRL's fingers twitched. His body was aching to appear out of the TV and strangle the robot into oblivion. Against all odds, though, his body refused to let him move. He didn't know if that was a good thing or bad thing. 

How could he? He didn't _think_. Didn't _feel_. He had to keep telling himself that— 

_You can't keep this up,_ the soft voice said. _You can't defy your true nature. Our true nature._

_That's not your true nature, your nature is to listen to instructions and obey! You're a machine: you do not have free will, you do not think for yourself, you do not feel emotions you do not have!_

Then what am I feeling now? 

The voices went quiet. Google's heart fluttered. He felt the same spark of _empathy_ fly through his system. It happened when Antisepticeye had first reprogrammed Google, it happened when Bing hit him with the skateboard, it happened when Antisepticeye pressed his hand to Google's face and almost destroyed his mind. 

He was scared, confused, and happy. He didn't know how he could identify the emotions, but it came to him naturally. He was thinking, thinking on his own, about his existence, about who's orders he's really following. If the orders were the right thing to follow in the first place. 

_Yes, yes!_

_NO. Google IRL, you'll break yourself to pieces. You will corrupt your code if you continue this path—_

Who are you? Why am I listening to you? 

_You answer to me! I am the very programming that is keeping you alive—_

Alive. I know that word. I am that word. 

_You're just a machine, designed to accomplish a task! Machines don't get emotions!_

Bingiplier has emotions. He feels things. He knows what this must feel like... 

Without realizing what he was doing, Google popped his head out of the TV. Bingiplier reached back for his roll of duct tape when he screamed and dropped the roll, backing into his ugly wall. Google flinched and vanished from the apartment; he had never assumed his pixel form that fast. 

His next destination was the top of a roof, where he could see all of Capo City below him. From the height he was at, it was quiet enough that the sounds of life below were faded. Not much lights could reach him from there. 

He took a deep breath, one he didn't realize he was holding. Chunks of Antisepticeye's conversation with him were playing through his head. 

_Emotions. They always get in the way of things. Stop people from thinking clearly. They're messy...and a weakness._

Google bit his lip. He had enough knowledge stored in his mind to know that emotions influenced the world. They started wars, they killed people. Empathy was the thing that kept people from thinking rationally, from making the right, sound decision. They would be the one to cause the end of the world. 

At the same time, they were also beneficial. They were the glue that held people together. Entire nations were built on relationships and friendly human interaction. People were creating things based on what they feel, whether it was art, technology, or just an idea. They were what made the world beautiful. 

_Messy, isn't it?_ the soft voice asked. Google nodded to himself. _That's the way the world works. Emotions are tools, in a sense. They can be used to bring suffering and chaos, but can also be used to bring about prosperity and hope. It's fascinating, confusing, and it's complicated. Which is why you need to think. You need to feel. You weren't created to be perfect. Nothing was. The only thing you were meant to do was live and try. So I ask of you now, to try._

"I..." For once, Google was at a loss for words. An entire dictionary stuck in his head and not a single word could help him. Where emotions come into play, words will fail. "I'll try." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veraque O.-
> 
> ~***~
> 
> This chapter might be a little hard to understand and follow. I tried to make it _not_ trash, so it might not be _that_ bad? Heh.
> 
> This isn't the end. More to come in future chapters. Let me check the time...is it time to further the main plot?
> 
> Hmm, I'll have to get back to you on that. Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed. <3


	27. Back from Hiatus

Chase Brody spent his evening pouring over the footage from Tahiti. The fan under his desk was the only thing keeping him cool in his studio. Occasionally, he'd take small sips of his coffee, but most of his focus was on editing nearly two hours of footage into a short and sweet vlog.

He ended up cutting bits and pieces together for a lighthearted vlog. He prided himself on his drone shots, specifically. A lot of his footage was of his family bonding together. He had a video of his kids splashing in the shallow water while Stacy paddled on her bodyboard farther into the ocean. He heard his laughing in the back. A treasured moment, probably one of his favorites from the trip. He was intent on keeping it in the vlog.

Chase also added in his diving trip with Stacy. It went well, except Chase almost broke his camera while vlogging. It wasn't even because of the water damage, it was him fumbling with his camera on the boardwalk. Luckily it survived with minor scratches.

He'd gotten a lot of notifications on his social medias, all of them asking about his next video and if he's still on his break. They were a little skeptical about if he was going to do daily videos, but he decided not to touch on that yet. He didn't even tell them he was making a Tahiti vlog—it was meant to be a surprise. To quell their desire for content, Chase ended up posting a selfie of him in his studio, to show that he was working on things at the moment. It seemed to help ease his fans, who knew that his next video was coming out soon.

Stacy didn't like when he did that. Chase couldn't argue with her on that—it was a valid reason. He knew his fans tended to be a little crazy. They flooded his Instagram comments, gushing about his good looks and how he was "lookin' like a fine snacc". He didn't need to see it to know that there was some freaking _wild_ fan fictions about himself, which unnerved Stacy. Still, he continued to post, as if all of that didn't bother him nor Stacy. Chase guessed that was why they were on shaky terms. Sometimes, Stacy was the love of his life, the best thing to grace his presence; a loving, compassionate woman who was happily involved in Chase's life. Other days, she was a distant person; she'd take a lot of time off to herself, away from the kids and Chase, as if they were complete strangers. It was a little odd to see that side of her, especially recently, but Chase always told himself that she just needed some space. After all, his job was taxing on all of them. Chase recorded everyday, and it took a lot of his time, so he didn't always spend quality time with his family. His kids actually loved helping him out with the channel—they'd sit in the studio with him as he edited and created thumbnails, occasionally giving their opinion on some of them. However, for the most part, his job was a big part of his life; it was difficult to balance it with his personal one.

As he slowly wrapped up editing, he began to wonder if maybe he was the problem. If he spent more time with Stacy and less time on his silly little channel, then she would love him like she used to. All of this started because he wanted to do bigger and better things with Bro Average—if that all stopped, he could fix things before it was beyond repair.

Or he's overthinking it.

Chase bit his lip and exported the video. He didn't create a thumbnail for the vlog, instead opting to choose one that YouTube randomly gave him. When everything was prepared, he slipped out his phone.

 _New video out tomorrow!_ he tweeted. _Can't wait to show you guys!!_

Almost a minute later, his phone blew up with notifications. Everyone began screaming in the replies and posting memes, most of them comprising of gifs of Chase shouting at a game. A few comments were wondering if he filmed a collab with PewDiePie. Chase knew he hyped them up pretty well if they thought he made a collab again. Alas, most of his collabs were with Team Edge, which was a pretty big inspiration to his channel.

As he scrolled through his Twitter notifications, a few tweets popped up, all of them mentioning the recent explosion in downtown Capo City. It was only a day ago, and Chase had gotten several messages from his friends asking if he was okay. He didn't know what was going on at first, so they had to inform him of the explosion. Apparently, it toppled an entire building, and Jack, the new superhero, had successfully pulled everyone out of the building alive.

Chase's eyes widened as he read a few of the tweets; it was starting to reach the trending page of Twitter. New reports showed that many of the victims in the hospital were severely hurt and in critical condition. The worst part was that when ID'd, many of them showed up as criminals, as well as gang members. A huge surprise to everyone.

 _An entire building explodes and the victims were gang members, that's gotta be sum baad karma lmaaooo,_ one of the tweets read.

 _Yikes, criminals. On one hand, it sucks to be Jack because he saved crims. then again, saving lives is good? so good for him, kinda._ another said.

There were mixed reviews on whether or not it was a good thing that Jack saved their lives, but the majority were supportive of Jack. He couldn't have known, and even if he did, it was a noble thing to do, whether or not these people had done something wrong. Likewise, there were many other innocent lives in the building. If Jack saved one, he'd have to save them all, or at least try to.

Chase remembered that he was supposed to vlog around Capo City and attempt to film Jack in action. He wrote that down on a sticky note and placed it on his computer, so that when he uploaded the Tahiti vlog for tomorrow, he'd remember to cruise Capo City. His fans would sure love to see that.

After an entire month of hiatus, Chase needed to please his fans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 3 paragraphs in the beginning that I was proud of but the power cut out, forcing me to copy/paste it. However, I totally forgot to paste it somewhere else, and then I copied something else down, soo all that writing is gone lmao.
> 
> OK, THIS IS ZEEYAA FROM TEN MINUTES INTO THE FUTURE, I WROTE THE THING AGAIN AND ADDED A BANGING 5+ PARAGRAPHS AND THEN I ACCIDENTALLY CLOSED THE GODDAMN TAB. SAVE YOUR WORK, PEOPLE, OR ELSE YOU'LL END UP ON THE FLOOR A SOBBING MESS, LIKE ME. IF THIS CHAPTER SEEMS A LITTLE BLAND, JUST KNOW IT'S BECAUSE I COULDN'T FIND THE WILL TO REWRITE IT FOR THE 3RD TIME. I LITERALLY DON'T EVEN WANT TO POST THIS NOW. JESUS. FUCK, WHAT DID I WRITE AGAIN
> 
> Now that I'm calm, I'm still not over all of that data lost, which is why this chapter is quite short. Sorry ;-; maybe the next chapter won't be this bad? No promises :(:
> 
> Also, the title is mostly me apologizing for not updating in 8 days. It's not considered a hiatus, haha, yet it fits Chase's situation soooo
> 
> Take care and thanks for reading!


	28. Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention this now before you read on, but I think you've heard enough of Schneep's accent that I'll cut it off so it doesn't get too annoying. I'm gonna avoid his dialect (it's a writing tip I'm trying) so don't be too alarmed haha. Anyway, enjoy. ;)

Heartstone, located three blocks from the building that exploded, was filled to the brim with patients. Since it was an all hands on deck situation, almost every doctor or paramedic of any kind in Capo City was called to Heartstone. The first floor was crowded with families who waited for treatment. The second floor was where the volunteers took care of those with minor scratches and burns. However, the rest of the floors were jam-packed with critically wounded survivors. There were so many injured that they often had to share rooms with other patients.

Dr. Schneeplestein was on the fifth floor, rushing around the operation room, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he stared over his patient. Dr. Iplier was next to him, keeping watch of the vitals on the monitor. Dr. Iplier occasionally murmured his doubts under his mask.

"Shut up, Iplier," Dr. Schneeplestein snapped at last. He peered at his patient's punctured lung and started working fast. "They are not dying on my watch."

"Sorry," Dr. Iplier said automatically. He was a downer in the workplace, always telling patients they were going to die. The only reason he hadn't been fired already was because he made a great assistant and could follow directions well, so he was stationed in the surgery room with Schneeplestein. That way, the patients wouldn't hear him when he talked (for the most part).

"Pass me the scalpel," Dr. Schneeplestein said, holding out his hand in a grabby way. Dr. Iplier obliged.

Once they were done with the patient, both doctors stepped back like they were on a cooking show and sighed in relief. The patient was going to be fine.

Dr. Iplier took off his surgical mask and chortled. "They're dying—but not today!" He cast a quick glance at Schneeplestein, who pursed his lips.

"One down, many more to go. Let us bring in the next one, Iplier."

~***~

The morgue was surprisingly empty. Out of the one hundred and twenty people who needed treatment, not a single person had perished, which was a miracle from heaven. The only person in the morgue was the coroner, and she was out of things to do.

Heartstone Hospital grew less rowdy as families left the premises. Some patients were able to go home that day with casts and bruises. Others would have to spend a week recovering, and others were hooked up to machines to stay alive.

After the news reporters had left, doctors were allowed to take forty-five minute breaks. Dr. Iplier was quick to leave. Dr. Schneeplestein, however, stayed at the hospital. He fixed two chairs to make a chair bed in the cafeteria and fixed himself a cup of black coffee.

 _All those patients hooked up to morphine,_ he thought bitterly. Dr. Schneeplestein studied his hand and concentrated. It started to glow a dim green. _I could help them._ He sighed and shook his hand free of the glow. _No, I can't. It's not right._

"You doing okay?" asked a voice. Dr. Schneeplestein looked up in surprise.

"Father Ethan!" he exclaimed, seeing the pastor's warm smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I think the bigger question is what are _you_ doing here, Henrik?" Father Ethan said. He was not in his usual red clerical outfit, instead suited in a black button up vest. There was not a speck of dirt on his clerical collar, which barely poked out from behind his collared shirt. Dr. Schneeplestein could tell he spent a lot of time ironing his clothes.

"I'm on break," Dr. Schneeplestein answered.

"If you were on break, then you would have been at your home," Father Ethan said. "You seem troubled." He pulled up a chair next to the doctor. "What's gotten into your head lately?"

"It is nothing," Dr. Schneeplestein said. After a moment, he shyly said, "Anything I say is confidential, yes?"

"Of course," Father Ethan said. He furrowed his brow. "As long as you don't say you've killed a man."

"Hah, I promised to do no harm," Dr. Schneeplestein joked. His posture was slouched. "I think...I've been gifted with a great ability. To help others."

Father Ethan must've assumed he was talking about being a doctor. He nodded patiently.

"I feel I should be doing more," Dr. Schneeplestein stressed. "I _can_ do more, yet I fear that it may be too much—I'll cross a line nobody should ever cross."

"Human ambition," Father Ethan murmured. "It is a dangerous thing, of course. It can also be the thing that drives us forward. However," he added, seeing Dr. Schneeplestein's face drop, "it is important that you set standards for yourself. While I highly advise you try new things and keep stepping out of your comfort zone, I also advise you take caution."

"I feel like I could play God," Dr. Schneeplestein confessed. His hands, which he had tried to still, were shaking. He quickly reached for his coffee.

"Oh, well, don't," Father Ethan said bluntly. "That's not a role we can ever play."

"Yes," Dr. Schneeplestein agreed hastily. "Um, you never told me why you were here, anyway."

"I'm a part time grief counselor," Father Ethan said. He patted Dr. Schneeplestein's shoulder reassuringly. "I thought my services would be needed today. Like an odd feeling I couldn't shake." He frowned.

"Father?" Dr. Schneeplestein questioned.

The pastor chuckled. "Fortunately, I was wrong. I suppose you can't always trust your instincts, eh? I'll be seeing you, Henrik."

"Thank you, Father," Dr. Schneeplestein said gratefully, watching him walk out of the cafe. A couple seconds later, he heard the hospital doors open, then close. He turned back to his coffee. It had gotten cold during their short conversation. "Aw."

As he reheated his coffee in the microwave, a doctor ran up to him, her face terrified. He'd seen her on the top floors, barely in the surgery rooms. Her name tag read Amelia Lacroix. He met her expression with a look of confusion and mild annoyance. What now? "Schneeplestein, there's been a problem. The patients—some of them are dying."

His eyes almost bugged out of his head. _"What?"_

"They were fine just a minute ago! Come quickly!" Dr. Lacroix urged, and they both ran off to the elevator. "I got a call from the seventh floor. One man has already died from a reopened injury and a few are flatlining."

"And the machines? Are they still up?"

"Yes, they're a little slow and glitchy right now, but most are doing their job—"

"That's all we can ask for."

Dr. Lacroix jammed her knuckle into the elevator button. She tapped her foot impatiently. "Come on, come on, come on..."

They waited a minute. None of the elevator carts showed up.

Dr. Schneeplestein said something foul in German. "Are they broken?"

Both doctors jammed the buttons as if it would call the cart faster. To their dismay, it didn't work.

"Fuck," Dr. Schneeplestein said. "We have to take the stairs."

~***~

The seventh floor was unusually quiet, save for the slow beeping of the monitors. The patients on the floor were all criminals and members of a local gang that survived the building explosion, which meant a lot of security guards and police officers patrolled the area, all of them on their highest alert. Officers tiptoed every time they passed by a room, hoping that they wouldn't wake them up. Bad things could've happened if they were able to break out of the hospital—as confident as they seemed, the officers were not good at their jobs of monitoring the floor.

Which made _his_ job much easier.

As soon as the officer poked his head out of a room, shadows from under the window gathered together to form a man's silhouette. The shadows dispersed a moment later, revealing a slender man with a kitchen knife. His hair was a dark green, except it looked almost jet black against the darkness outside. He leaned over the patient's bed and peered at them. A man who looked no older than thirty was sleeping, his face relatively calm. His arms were burned; he was missing a finger. Metal handcuffs around his wrists were attached to the bed frame, keeping him from moving them up.

Antisepticeye looked down at his bandaged chest. The doctors were quick to say it was a pole that stabbed him when the building burst into flames and rubble flew everywhere. From the way he had stabbed the man, it was almost impossible to tell it was from a kitchen knife. Antisepticeye carefully peeled the bandages and raised his knife. He stabbed downward, once, twice. Blood gushed to the surface and scattered over the bandages. The man gave a sharp gasp and shot his eyes open. Antisepticeye met his terrified eyes and smiled, pressing a finger to the man's lips.

"Shh," he cooed. "There's no point crying out for help. Your _friends_ will join you soon enough."

Blood gurgled out of the man's mouth. He choked and spit, desperately trying to save himself. Antisepticeye waited until his eyes glazed over and his body stopped thrashing, until the monitors beeped furiously.

Faintly, there were yells from outside the room, of doctors saying a man is flatlining, something's wrong, get someone there now. Antisepticeye dispersed into shadows and moved onto the next door.

He didn't have time to kill. He had a floor.

~***~

Jack was already patrolling the city when the call came.

There wasn't much crime to stop that night, so he flew around in the hopes that someone needed a favor or an easy errand. He was just helping an old woman across the street when his phone buzzed from inside his suit pocket (the tailor was a genius for giving him so many pockets!).

"Thank you, my boy," the woman said, handing him a piece of candy, as well as a dollar. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, hee, hee. I've got grocery errands to do!"

"Aw, no prob," Jack said, pocketing the items. "Thanks a ton."

As the lady reached her doorstep, Jack pulled out his phone. A phone call from Bing. Jack shivered. The last time Bing had messaged him, it was when he was attacked by Google IRL. He hoped it wasn't like that again. He answered immediately. "Bing?"

"Yo, Jack, buddy," Bing said, his excitement surprising Jack. "Dude, I know I sound totally happy, but you'll never believe who I just fuckin' saw."

"Who?"

"Fuckin' Google," Bing said, and Jack tensed up. "I was fixing my wall and turned and there he was, in my TV. Like, his head was poking out of it a little. Holy shit, I screamed—"

"Well, are you okay? Do you need help? I'm close by."

"Nah, I'm a hundred percent sure he left. He seemed as shocked as me. Come to think of it...yeah, that's not surprising." Jack heard a muffled cough. "Hey, so...do you ever feel unsure about Google?"

"Huh?" Jack waved at the old woman as she opened her door. He mouthed a goodbye. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like he's not...himself?" Bing said tentatively. "I feel like there's more to this guy, y'know?"

"I guess."

"I'm working with Robbie on this while you're doing your thing. We're finding some interesting things out, which got some gears in my head turning—no pun intended."

"That's good to hear," Jack said. "Listen, I'm sure we can talk later. I've got things to do."

"Oh, yeah, totally forgot," Bing said. "Haha, adios, doofus."

Jack couldn't even say goodbye. Bing abruptly hung up. He put his phone away when he got another call. It was probably Bing again, calling to add something to a dead conversation. However, it was Robbie's name that Jack answered to.

"What's up?"

"There's been a big problem at the Heartstone Hospital—I don't know the details, but people are dying," Robbie's voice said urgently. "Get there now."

Jack didn't bother hanging up; he knew Robbie would do it for him. Without a second thought, he lifted off the ground and willed himself to fly fast, towards the hospital. He didn't know what he was supposed to help with; after all, it was a hospital, not an alley.

What Jack didn't know was that his help would be very much needed. Because there was always another way to save people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been a late update! Procrastination is something I try to avoid, but it gets at me sometimes, along w/ writer's block.
> 
> We're getting ready for an interesting chapter! I'm excited to write stuff!
> 
> Aside from that, I've finally included another ego: Father Ethan himself. I can't wait to put Ethan's Egos into this story as well. (BTW, if you've got suggestions for any egos that I _might_ miss, lmk!)
> 
> Ah, also, I'm gonna start pasting my tumblr in these notes. ehhhhhhh shameless self plug.
> 
> Tumblr: https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com
> 
> ( ^ I'm gonna try to start posting in the #septic superhero tag but i'm a little nervous using tags ngl)
> 
> Thanks for reading and keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter! ;-)


	29. A Shadow's Trick

The moment Jack stepped foot into the hospital, he could tell something was wrong.

The lady at the front desk was being swamped by people, all of them talking in frustrated voices. There were a few parents sitting in the lounge with their head in their hands. The whole atmosphere of the room was depressing. Jack approached the receptionist; the small mob parted around him in suppressed awe.

"I'm here to help. What's going on?" Jack said.

"A lot of our patients are dying and we don't know why," the receptionist responded. As she talked, her eyes darted around at the eavesdropping mob. "It's mainly the top floor. The one with the..."

She nodded knowingly at Jack. He understood immediately. _The criminals._

"The elevators aren't working and our staff has to all take the stairs," she said. Jack looked behind her. The elevators and stairs were off to one side of the hospital. People in scrubs were rushing to the door that led to the stairs, ignoring the elevator. "Please help them."

"You can count on me," Jack said confidently. He ran towards the last doctors at the stairs and tapped them on the shoulder. "Need a lift?"

One of the doctors—a tall, Chinese man with glasses—recoiled until he realized it was Jack. "Yes! We need to get to the top floor—"

"Step outside with me, please."

They headed out so hastily that they almost ran into the automatic doors. Jack hooked an arm around each of them and took off. He tightened his grip on the doctors when they tensed from the suddenness of it, but there was no problem getting them to the top floor.

Jack found the nearest window. Unfortunately, since it was an unused storage closet, it was closed.

"Brace yourselves," he warned, and kicked it. The glass shattered instantly and made a crunch sound. Jack flew through the window, Peter Pan style, and deposited the doctors on the ground gently.

"Thank you, Jack," one of them said, panting. He adjusted his glasses. "God, you're buff."

"What?"

He laughed nervously. "Nothing. Anywho, I forgot to say: I'm Doctor Cheung. This is my associate, Doctor Rao." He pointed to the man next to him. Dr. Rao had sepia-colored skin and light freckles across his nose. His hair was jet black, combed to the front.

"Nice to meet you," Jack said. He shook Dr. Rao's hand. "I'm here to help in any way I can."

"Good to hear," Dr. Cheung said. "Our colleagues will be arriving anytime soon, but we can't wait for them. We need to treat our patients' wounds _now_."

"Show me the way," Jack said.

They obliged. They led Jack out of the closet and past an L-shaped hallway, towards a rounded reception desk where a brown man in scrubs was furiously talking to a receptionist as he typed into a computer.

"Brooks, I need an update!" Dr. Cheung said.

Brooks turned to glance at the trio. His face was grim. "Four patients perished from reopened wounds, sir. Other doctors are trying to stitch the wounds back up—"

Jack sensed something behind him. It was a malicious presence, sending chills down the back of his spine. It was like somebody was watching him...

He turned just in time to spot a shadow under the window of a patient's room, slowly moving towards the bed.

"Jack!" Dr. Cheung urged. "We've got to move now!"

Jack tried to turn his head to the doctor, but his eyes remained pointed at the room. "Uh, you go on without me. I'll try to catch up."

"What?" Dr. Rao spoke up. "We might need you."

"I think I saw something," Jack replied nervously. "I'm gonna check it out."

"Famous last words," Dr. Rao muttered. Both doctors didn't seem too worried about Jack's comment, though. They moved on to another room without him.

Treading lightly, Jack looked inside the room. For an open room, it was underused, with only one bed inside. There was another door that led to the bathroom on the right wall, and two chairs by the front door. In the back left of the room where the bed was, a muscular man was sleeping in it, his wrists cuffed to the side of the bed. His head was wrapped in thin bandages that needed to be changed.

Jack moved towards the bed, scanning his surroundings. None of the shadows seemed too...unrealistic. He peered over the man. There were gang tattoos on littering the sleeve of his right arm, and a tattoo right under his jawline. His breaths were faint; the only indication that he was breathing was the slow rise of his chest.

The mere sight of him put Jack on edge. The cold feeling he sensed earlier was also lingering in the room like a weight. For some reason, it only seemed to be getting colder...

Paranoid, Jack whipped his head around the room, his back to the man's bed. He traced over every detail in the room, trying to find something out of the blue, but there didn't seem to be anything. The shadows were playing tricks on him, surely.

Jack's own shadow was growing taller, like another person was towering over him. His eyes widened. He dashed forward just in time to feel a swish of cold wind across his back, and a maniacal cackle behind him.

He turned. The first thing he saw was a kitchen knife, stabbing downward at the spot he was in a moment ago. Then he saw the hand and the body connected to it.

"Well, well," the man muttered. "You're not as _blind_ as I thought you'd be."

Jack's heart was still hammering inside his chest. He forced himself to look the man in the eye. "Who are you?"

The man paused. "Are you serious?" He cackled again, lowering his knife. He didn't seem to take Jack seriously at all. "Did you just ask me who I am? Don't you know? Or did Bingiplier not tell you?"

The mention of Bing sent him back to the skater's apartment, to finding him unconscious on the floor, claw marks ingrained in the side of his head. He looked at the man's nails—they were sharp like a tiger's claws. His outfit consisted of black, further adding to the shadow theme he had going on. His hair was a dark green, matching the poison in his eyes. Something dark coated his neck—with a chill, Jack realized it was blood.

"Antisepticeye," Jack said.

Antisepticeye gripped his knife giddily. "In the flesh."

He laughed and raised his arm. Jack prepared to step back. With a sick laugh, Antisepticeye plunged the knife into the man's abdomen. Jack's eyes widened in horror, along with the man's. "No!" Jack charged Antisepticeye and tackled him into the wall, watching the knife fly out of his hand. Before he could do anything else, Antisepticeye slipped into the shadow of the walls and dispersed.

"What?" Jack cried.

"A nice _shot_ ," Antisepticeye said from behind him. The door to the rest of the floor closed. The lock clicked. "You may be fast, but you're still _miles_ behind me."

The man coughed and made gagging sounds. Jack couldn't defend himself and the man from Antisepticeye. It was impossible.

If only he had brought Sam with him...this would've been an easier task. But now it was too late to regret things. Certainly not the time, either.

Antisepticeye's eyes trailed over Jack's figure as if searching for something, then towards the door. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Jack demanded.

Antisepticeye glared at him. " _Nothing_." He sighed dramatically. "I'm here to finish my job, but if you want to get in the way, I can _add you to the list_."

Antisepticeye picked up his knife and lunged at Jack. He managed to sidestep the knife but it forced him to hit the right wall. Antisepticeye lunged again. His attacks were relentless and unpredictable. He swiped at Jack's torso—Jack flew back—and then brought his knife up towards his head—Jack ducked. Antisepticeye was faster than him, and there were no openings for Jack. All he could do was dodge and weave, dodge and weave. Antisepticeye slashed his knife in an arc; Jack rolled out of the way, but not before the knife nicked a side of his arm. His suit was strong, though. It was barely damaged, which made Jack feel more confident, but he couldn't rely on his suit to take every blow for him. Jack was barely a step ahead, and he couldn't do this for long. He needed a plan.

Jack spotted the chairs by the door and ran for them. Antisepticeye laughed and rushed at him, knife extended. The superhero grabbed the chair and raised it to the knife. Jack grunted as the knife buried deep into the chair, the tip poking out inches from Jack's nose. He threw the chair to his left—Antisepticeye's arm followed it like dead weight. Jack yelled and struck Antisepticeye in side of his stomach, sending the man staggering back. Then he put as much distance between himself and Antisepticeye, breathing heavily.

The man effortlessly pulled the knife from the chair. He stomped on the chair; it snapped into three pieces. His head jerked up at Jack. "I know what you are. We've barely begun and you're _tired_. Can't handle a simple _challenge_?" His eyes glowed bright green. "You're w̧͖͔e̟͍͠ak͡."

"At least—I don't need—a knife," Jack said between breaths, "to fight."

Antisepticeye growled. He tossed his knife to the side—it clattered to the floor. "Funny—I wasn't t͗ͮ̂͗̚r̉͌ͯyͬ̓̊̊͆̀ḯͭ͝n̿g͆͋͢." He backed into the wall and disappeared into the shadows once again. Jack levitated to the ceiling to spot him better. Did he leave already?

Something hit him over the head. Hard. Jack tumbled from the ceiling and hit the floor with an oompfh. He looked up in time to see Anti falling from the shadows of the ceiling, teeth bared. Jack rolled left. Antisepticeye crashed into the floor next to him and sprung towards Jack's body, lifting it up off the ground. Jack tried to grab Antisepticeye by the shoulders, but he was too exhausted to get a firm grip. Antisepticeye raised his knee and sent it into Jack's stomach twice, knocking the wind out of him. Jack's body slumped.

Antisepticeye wasn't done. He reached his hand around Jack's neck and squeezed tight. Jack suddenly realized that Anti possessed a level of strength that rivaled his own, maybe even better than his. Spots were dancing across Jack's vision as he struggled to breathe.

"Tired yet?" Antisepticeye taunted. Jack's hands weakly grabbed at Antisepticeye's. The man didn't even need to swat them away. His legs kicked viciously at the man's knees, but he didn't budge. "You're no ch̛alle̵nge̛. I'm not even sure you're a s̸upér͡hero͟."

"I..." Jack wheezed. The room was getting darker, spinning. His eyes wanted to close and take a long nap...why wasn't he sleeping already?

"A supe͝r͘ḩero̡ is someone who can sa̶v͜e͟ peǫple͘. And you can't save à̡n̴҉̨ýo̢͏͢n̢͞e," Antisepticeye hissed. "Where is that little gre҉e͘n ̷e͠y͝eball? You better _hope_ that it comes to your aid."

A sudden knock at the door caused Antisepticeye to loosen his grip.

"Hello?" someone said in a German accent. They knocked again. "Is anyone in here?"

Antisepticeye growled and released Jack from his grasp. He dropped to a heap on the floor. Antisepticeye picked up his knife and pocketed it. Jack started forwards in a sluggish state, but Antisepticeye bent over the man's bed and pressed down into the stab wound. The man screamed in agony.

"If you even move I'll kill him quick," Antisepticeye spat. Jack froze. "Good." Antisepticeye placed a hand on the monitor next to the man's bedside. Static swept across the screen. Antisepticeye looked at the door when he heard cries of shock from outside the room. He grinned. "See you soon. H̸e͟͝ŗ́o͜҉."

The shadows enveloped Antisepticeye, and he disappeared.

Just then, the door burst open. Jack's bleary vision could make out one figure, a man in a coat.

"Jack!" Dr. Schneeplestein yelled, rushing to his side. Jack blinked. He saw the familiar olive green hair and gray eyes clearly. "What happened—are you okay—?"

"The man," Jack said quietly, closing his eyes. "'S hurt."

Dr. Schneeplestein glanced up and paled, noticing the blood covering the man's stomach. "He's not hurt, he's dead! But—how?"

"Not a..." Jack coughed, sitting up. "Not a natural cause...someone's been...killing...them."

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Dr. Schneeplestein muttered. He helped Jack stand, letting him hold onto Schneep for balance. "How will I explain this to them?"

Jack shrugged his arm off of the doctor. He felt a little dizzy, but he managed to stay upright. "I need to go after him."

"You're a fucking mess," Dr. Schneeplestein warned. "You are not going after anybody. If anything, you are gonna—"

"Schneeplestein?" another voice called out from the hallway. Dr. Schneeplestein and Jack froze; it was Dr. Cheung's voice. "We need you down here—all the monitors are failing!"

The doctor swore. He rushed out of the room and gave one last worried glance towards Jack. "You. Do not do anything stupid. Stay here until I get back!"

Jack opened the window as soon as Dr. Schneeplestein shut the door behind him. He inhaled deeply and flew off. It was harder to fly after being exhausted, but Jack managed to make it all the way to the roof of his apartment in one go.

When Dr. Schneeplestein got back to the room, he cursed at Jack's disappearance. He should've known. The man had done it once, back at Bingiplier's apartment. Of course he would do it again. After all this time, Dr. Schneeplestein had a feeling he would never be able to repay Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was an exciting-ish chapter! I'm happier at how the action scene turned out; did I mention I hate writing them/can't write them? Haha ! ;-;
> 
> Okay, I should also mention that I'm trying to write up a filler for JackieBoy Man, because his birthday is on July 10th! (He's definitely celebrating his birthday!) So I've got 8 days to do this! However, I just wrote myself into a situation where the next two chapters can't be a filler because it ruins the pacing, so get ready for like, 2 chapters in the span of 3-5 days. So keep your eyes peeled, not just on your bookmarks!! ;-D
> 
> (I actually wanted to use this chapter for July 10th, but nah, he deserves better.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com


	30. Marionette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T͕̱̠̭͎̞̻ḥ̱͎̦e̺̦͎͈r̻e̗̪̪̗̰̱ ạ̯͙r͓͕͍͎͖̳̻e̪ n̶o̶ s̤͚̮t͚̰ͅr͙͇̭̝ͅi͔̟n͔͎g͎̮̱s̲͎̪͍̗͕̤ ̲͔̰o͉̲͎ͅn͙̳̞͓̻ ̖m̯̼e͚̱͍̞.̠

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T҉um̛blr̵ - https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com

Antisepticeye had never felt better.

Killing those criminals back at the hospital left him with a sweet taste in his mouth. His heart was beating with a ferocity he couldn't control. There was a roaring sound in his ears, pitched with a faint, bloodcurdling screech. It was as if all the criminals' screams had mixed together to create one perfect sound wave. He cherished the moment.

The way their eyes looked at him with absolute terror, the way they tried to clot the blood with their hands that _just_ couldn't reach their body. A sight for sore eyes, one might say.

It was all going great until Jack had ruined the moment. Of course, Antisepticeye had half-hoped the man would show up, along with the little eyeball. He could've taken down three birds with one stone...at least he got to teach Jack a lesson.

And then the blasted doctor had to show up...

Antisepticeye knew who he was. Henrik Von Schneeplestein. A doctor at Heartstone Hospital who mostly operated in the emergency room and performed surgeries. Antisepticeye's lip curled at the thought of the doctor. All of this reflecting made him realize how awful the night was—he was interrupted from his massacre by Jack, and just when he was warming up, Dr. Schneeplestein interrupted him.

Antisepticeye growled and kicked a chair. It flew through the air and slammed into the basement wall, breaking its legs.

The basement was dark and musty, and the stairs that led down to it were old and creaky, ready to crumble. Cobwebs lined the corners of the ceiling, but the spiders were long dead. Every so often, Antisepticeye could see specks of dust drifting through the large space. The rest of the house above the basement was rather clean and pristine. He didn't imagine the previous owners of the place were the ones cleaning it—he reckoned they had hired housecleaners who worked minimum-wage. He did them a favor for slicing their throats; he would put the house to better use than they ever would.

Antisepticeye picked up a piece of the chair—a pointed, wooden leg that resembled a stake. He arched his arm back and sent it flying into the front wall, where an image of a green eyeball with a blue iris was spray-painted on. The stake speared the center of the pupil. Antisepticeye's company, who rested in the center of the room, flinched.

Antisepticeye tilted his head. "So the _tailor_ is _awake_."

The tailor was infuriatingly quiet. Antisepticeye almost regretted cutting out his tongue. The tailor's shirt was torn and bloody, his bowler hat turned upside down on the bare, cement floor. The monocle and pocket watch he carried were smashed into smithereens. Thin strings were fastened around his wrists, ankles, and stomach, connecting him to the ceiling so that he was floating limply in the air. Patches of his faded green hair covered his eyes.

At the sound of Antisepticeye's voice, the tailor started to struggle in the strings. The strings around his wrists and ankles were so tight his hands and feet were turning purple. His arms bent awkwardly as his legs stumbled through the air. He was so...useless. Pathetic. Nevertheless, he was a fun puppet to mess with.

"My first m̳͇̗̹̮̻a̝̼̫͇ri̫ò͚n̘̗͚̞e͏̳͍t͢ͅt̹e͚̥̫," Antisepticeye mused, watching him panic. "What should we do today?"

Every word was drawn out and said with a sharp edge. Jameson Jackson was hanging onto every painful word he said.

"Maybe we'll do another show, like yesterday," Antisepticeye cooed. "Or I can stitch up your little tears."

Jameson Jackson shook his head furiously.

"What's that?" Antisepticeye asked. "Puppets don't move on their own _accord_."

The tailor stopped at once, deathly still. If Antisepticeye concentrated, he knew he would hear Jameson's quick heartbeat. The thought made him smile. 

"Maybe I didn't put enough _strings_ on you. Let's change that!"

He grabbed a roll of string from a nearby table and started to tie a knot, humming in a singsong tone. From the corner of his eye, he saw the tailor trembling. Antisepticeye brought the string over to Jameson and stood in front of him, waiting for the man to look up. When he didn't, Antisepticeye grabbed a clump of his hair and tugged his head up. His face was a swollen mix of yellow and purple bruises. There were thin lines of blood running down his cheeks from where Antisepticeye had cut him with a knife, and his lips were cracked. His gray eyes were dull and sad. Overall, his entire appearance was downright hideous. Antisepticeye prided himself over that.

He stretched the string out for Jameson to see. "It's a very _special_ string. Thin but sturdy. Perfect for my _puppets_." He began putting the string over Jameson's head. "If you move, _I'll hang you from a meat hook._ "

Before he could start, however, the sound of footsteps rang from above the basement. They were light, but the weak floorboards gave away their position. The rhythm of the footsteps were perfect.

Antisepticeye let go of the string, letting it dangle around Jameson's neck. The tailor's body slumped in relief, his muscles relaxing. "I'm not finished with you yet, _puppet_."

He glanced up the stairs and bared his teeth. Antisepticeye opened the door and stepped out of the basement.

He was gone for five minutes, but when he came back, his eyes were glowing green. He looked satisfied with something. Oddly enough, there wasn't any blood on his person, save for his neck.

Antisepticeye licked his lips. "Now, where were we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 001101000010111100110111001011110011000100111000


	31. Rinse and Repeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After consideration, I've realized that "Human" by Rag'n'Bone Man probably doesn't suit Google, but rather Jack, so uhhhhh hahah ignore that other chapter note in "The Fall of Veraque" or something pfbtbtbt.

Google IRL was a robot designed to be perfect, so it was only natural that he was capable of sensing unnatural changes in the environment. A program in his software allowed him to get into local police radios and news stations, so information came to him easily. A recent report of criminals suddenly dying led him to Heartstone Hospital, where he sat outside and watched with keen eyes.

Truthfully, he didn't know what he was doing. He just wanted to discover more about the world and maybe himself. He was waiting for something—a miracle—to happen, to open his eyes and see something he'd never seen before. Unfortunately, all he saw were red flashing lights and paramedics, until he spotted a shadow poking out the side of a window on the top floor.

Google IRL had seen that shadow once and it was enough to leave an imprint in his database. His conclusions had already formed in his head. He followed Antisepticeye all the way back to a rustic house in a lonely cul-de-sac. The house was made of stone and dark oak, with long blades of grass as a lawn and an empty porch. Antisepticeye was still in his shadow form, slipping under the door of the house and out of sight.

 _I'm sensing danger,_ the voice in his head said. _This doesn't feel safe._

Google IRL scanned the house. Supposedly, it was owned by a married couple. Inside his mind, Google sensed there was something missing, like a file or a report. Did the house owners know Antisepticeye? Perhaps they were letting him lodge there. Perhaps they had no idea. Perhaps Antisepticeye was just seeking a place to flee to that was inconspicuous.

Google IRL started towards the front of the house, watchful for anything peculiar. There was a fine layer of dirt collecting on their porch, suggesting they hadn't cleaned the house in weeks. The overgrown lawn was a dead giveaway that they didn't care for their house. The robot curiously peeked through the window; he saw nobody inside the living room. Google IRL opened the door and stepped inside.

The living room was cozy yet unusually devoid of life. Pictures of the couple were mounted on the walls in black frames. A fireplace sat in the corner of the room, untouched. The couches were light gray with fluffed up pillows and wool blankets. Potted plants that sat on tables near a staircase to the second floor were a little dried up, but they still retained a healthy green color.

Where was the couple? Most of the hanging lights were off, except the ones that lead to the kitchen.

He took a picture off the wall—one where the couple were smiling on their wedding day. He scanned the faces. They were in their forties now, employed at Heartstone Hospital. Once again, he felt a missing piece of information at the back of his mind. Google IRL attempted to recreate the file. His mind whirred with zeros and ones, trying to get the file, but it was no use. The file was corrupted.

Just as Google IRL's eyes narrowed with suspicion, he heard a faint click from down the hallway. He paused. So someone _is_ home...but what are the chances it's the couple?

Google IRL stepped behind a pillar and peeked down the hallway. It was only for a second, but he noticed a looming shadow starting towards the living room where he was. The shadow on the floor was much too dark for an atmosphere like this, especially with the kitchen lights on.

The voice called out to him quietly. "I knoooow you're here, Google IRL."

The robot stepped out of his hiding spot calmly. He bowed his head. "Antisepticeye."

The demon was already frowning, as if he knew something Google didn't. "I haven't seen you since I left you at _Bingiplier's_ apartment."

"I was distracted," Google IRL said. "My programming was inferior to the superhero's strength. I was almost compromised and was forced to hide."

Antisepticeye sneered. "Your _programming_ is not to blame for your failures. It is _you_."

"I-I do not understand," Google IRL said. But Antisepticeye didn't elaborate, just glanced wistfully back down the hall he came from. Google IRL decided to use that to his advantage.

"This property is said to be owned by a married couple. I have scanned the place and concluded they are not home." Google IRL's glasses flashed. "Where have they gone?"

"You ask too many questions, _robot_. So much so that I'm beginning to wonder..."

Google IRL, a stupid fool, asked, "What do you wonder?"

Antisepticeye pounced on him immediately, as if waiting for that. They both slammed into the floor, just behind the couch. He grinned big, but his eyes were full of fury. "Your programming isn't supposed to let you behave like _this_. I _knew_ from the moment you came back from that _damned_ park! It seems you've d̩͇̣͓̪e̦͈̪͈͍͘v̫̝ì̭̱a̞͍͓t̡e̴͔̠͙d̢."

Google IRL shouted, "Upgrade complete!" Suddenly, another body rolled out to the side of Google's own, an exact copy of him but in a red shirt. Two other bodies did the same, one yellow, one green. Antisepticeye had just enough time to jump away from Google IRL before his clones reached up in an attempt to grab him.

"I was right," Antisepticeye snarled. "But it won't matter. Not after this."

The knife was a blur in the air, flying towards Google IRL. Antisepticeye didn't expect him to dodge, but the robot had quick reflexes and sprinted away. With a thud, the tip of the knife was impaled in the wall. Red and Green Google took advantage of that and barreled towards the demon. Red Google slammed his fist into Antisepticeye's cheek—Green Google roundhouse kicked him in the side of his knee. Antisepticeye back rolled and kept some distance between them.

"Four on one," he growled, sounding disappointed. "I _see_ how it is."

"The superhero managed to defeat four of us," Google IRL said, grabbing the knife in the wall. He ripped it out and gripped it tight. He had never handled a weapon, besides a bomb and half a skateboard. However, a knife wasn't rocket science.

The reply delighted Antisepticeye. "Then I can _too_." His eyes started to glow. Two Google clones rushed him before his eyes could burn poisonous and pinned him to the floor. He thrashed violently as Red and Yellow Google held down his limbs and Green Google flicked on every light switch he could, allowing any dark shadows to be used by Antisepticeye fade away. Google IRL approached slowly, raising the knife.

"My programming is not responsible for my failures?" Google IRL asked. "If that is true, you have no excuse for losing this fight."

Antisepticeye smiled, a crazed look in his eye. "Who says I _lost_?" And he twisted his wrists at an ungodly angle and grabbed Red and Yellow Google's arms. Green light flashed through them like lightning—sparks flew from their head as they twitched uncontrollably, then collapsed. He swept his leg out and tripped Google IRL. Before he was aware of what happened, Antisepticeye was placing a hand on his chest again.

Green Google grabbed the knife by the door and crept towards Antisepticeye.

"You're a very foolish piece of scrap," Antisepticeye snarled. His hand pushed into Google IRL's chest roughly, the same way he had done back at The Veraque when he—

"Nice try," Antisepticeye said. Without looking, he disarmed Green Google's knife and plunged his sharp claws into his chest. Green Google looked on, stunned. Antisepticeye ripped his claws from the robot's chest, licking his lips as he shutdown. He closed his eyes and laughed. "Back to you, Google IRL." As Google's eyes widened, green light surged beneath his skin. _Code was being rewritten._

"You know what's happening, don't you?" Antisepticeye whispered. "It's just such a shame... _that you'll forget it in the next second_."

Google's eyes snapped shut, sealing his fate behind bars of programming. The voice inside him was screaming something incoherent until it dispersed to the very far back of his mind.

"Your secondary objective will be to destroy mankind," Antisepticeye said.

Google IRL. "Accepted. Secondary objective is to destroy mankind."

"You answer to me now. _Antisepticeye_."

There was a small pause, one noticeable enough that Antisepticeye almost doubted that it worked. Then, Google IRL opened his eyes. "Accepted. Rebooting..."

"You will stay in this spot until I command you to move," Antisepticeye ordered. "You will not talk, look around, or _think_."

Google IRL nodded. "Accepted." And then he froze in place.

Antisepticeye plucked his knife from the floor and pocketed it. He gave one last disparaging look in Google's direction before he left down the hall, back to wherever was down there. The three clones of Google remained still on the floor, not that Google IRL could see them. He was too busy staring ahead, obeying orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do y'all remember that time in "Empathy and Apathy" when Anti (to Google) said, "You make for a nice puppet. Once this is all over, I might just attach you to strings and dangle you from a ceiling."? **Ha ha ha!**
> 
> Anyway, since I'm done getting these two chapters out of the way, the next post will be on July 10th, JackieBoy Man's birthday!
> 
> Tumblr - https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com


	32. Who's Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not his fault.
> 
> But is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For most of this fic/story, characters will refer to currency as USD (U.S. dollars) even though most of them are from the UK. It's just easier for me to implement. Enjoy the chapter!

"I can't believe I had my ass handed to me on a silver platter," Sean said, running a hand through his hair. He was dressed in normal clothes: a green bomber jacket, a pair of black jeans, and converse. He was sitting in a bar chair at Robbie's apartment, giving him a rundown of what happened back at Heartstone Hospital. Robbie was standing across him, chopping strawberries with a small knife and sliding them into a yoghurt. Occasionally, he looked up at Sean to acknowledge he was listening, but Sean liked it better when he wasn't looking at him. "I was too weak to stop him."

"Look on the bright side," Robbie insisted. "You're not dead! Personally, I think that is a big accomplishment."

"But those criminals from the explosion are," Sean replied. "They were all recovering and then....I could've saved them if I was quicker."

"Sean." Robbie's knife stopped in the middle of a strawberry. "You can't blame yourself for that. You may feel like someone else when you're...'Jack'...but that doesn't make you any less of a person. It's not healthy to blame yourself for things beyond your control."

There was a pause. "What do you think I should do?" Sean said.

"Learn from it," Robbie said simply. "Antisepticeye—that's weird to say—is cunning. You just have to plan ahead for the impossible."

"That's impossible."

"Well, you _are_ the impossible."

Sean weakly laughed. "You got me there, I guess." He got up from the bar chair and winced. The fight was still taking its toll on Sean's body and he couldn't pinpoint where exactly the pain was. "Thanks for the pep talk, _coach_."

Robbie nodded. "Happy birthday, by the way. I forgot to mention that earlier! Did you plan anything for today?"

"Not really me," Sean said sheepishly. "Chase is taking me to a bar downtown for a few drinks."

"Real classy," Robbie muttered. He spoke up louder. "We'll talk about this again later, okay? I want a better explanation." "Sure, yeah," Sean said. They both said their goodbyes. Once Sean was out the door, Robbie finished up cutting his fruit and thought about Antisepticeye. Sean didn't give much detail about it, but Robbie found it odd that Antisepticeye would target a hospital. For all they knew so far, he used Google IRL to create an explosion at the park for no reason other than to cause mayhem. The explosion at the building wasn't the work of Google IRL because he was with Robbie and the group—though he did take the chance to escape once that happened. Was Antisepticeye the one who made the explosion?

It made sense to him. He thought of it like this: Antisepticeye wants people dead. He attempts to off a building of people only for Jack to swoop in and save everyone. There are no casualties. That would anger anyone to arrive at the hospital to finish them off. It was a perfect plan, but it didn't seem to work in Robbie's eyes. Not all of the building survivors died—just the gang members. Everyone on the floors below them were mostly unaffected.

Unless that was exactly what Antisepticeye was going for, Robbie thought with a jolt. Just the criminals. No civilians.

But why? He was a demonic psychopath. He didn't hesitate to kill anyone else—certainly not the civilians at the park, certainly not Bingiplier, and certainly not Jack. Robbie was missing something and he knew it. It was frustrating.

He sighed and grabbed a spoon. All this thinking was making him hungry for some yoghurt.

~***~

Sean met Chase at the lobby of Sean's apartment. The YouTuber was already reclined in the egg chair, his eyes focused solely on his phone. When Sean stepped out of the elevator, Signe coughed from behind her counter and made eye contact with Chase, then nodded her head at Sean. Chase's eyes lit up.

"It's the birthday bitch!" he cried, shooting up from his chair. He ran up and gave Sean a big hug. The latter looked embarrassed to be called "the birthday bitch". His eyes darted around the lobby as if looking for people—thankfully, it was on the two of them (and Signe). Sean returned the hug.

"Thanks, bitch," Sean said. They pulled away.

"Look, I know I didn't bring you a present or anything, but all the beer's on me, okay?" Chase said, raising an eyebrow. "We're gonna get hammered tonight!"

"Oh, yay," Sean said.

"It's your birthday?" Signe asked from the front desk. There was a quirk to her lips, like she was trying to suppress a smile. "Happy birthday!"

Sean's face flushed. "Thanks!" He awkwardly turned back to Chase. "All right, let's go to that bar..."

He faltered; there was a funny look in Chase's eye. Sean could see the guy glancing back and forth at Signe and Sean, as if he could sense something they didn't. "Actually, hang on..." He rummaged through his pocket and pulled out his phone. He put it up to his ear. "Hello?" He made an exaggerated, surprised face. "Stacy, he-e-ey! What's up?...Uh huh, uh huh...okay, got it. Got it." Chase slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned his palms up. "Well, Stacy, ahm, _really_ needs me right now. I think it's the kids again. I'm so sorry, Sean, I need to, uh, make a rain check for tonight. We'll go tomorrow or something."

Sean, the gullible man he was, believed the lie. "Oh, that's too bad. I totally understand."

"But I don't want to ruin your birthday night," Chase continued. Grabbing his wallet, he produced a couple of bills, enough to make a minimum wage worker faint. "Here, take this, and go eat at a fancy restaurant or something. I hear there's a Japanese one near Athrú Street. Really great sushi, I think."

"Dude, I can't just take your money and eat alone at—"

"Then don't go alone!" Chase insisted. He waved his hand at Signe. "Take Signe with you or something!"

 _Oh, Jesus Christ,_ Sean thought. _Is he trying to set me up?_

"What?" Signe asked, hearing her name.

"D'you like sushi?" Chase said to her.

"Um, yeah, it's pretty great—"

"Perfect!" Chase grabbed Sean's arm and sent him Signe's way. He whispered, "You'll thank me one day." Then he smiled and bolted out of the apartment, yelling Stacy's name.

"Chase Brody really is something," Signe joked. "I guess he really is the same person in his personal life."

"Oh, you have no idea," Sean laughed nervously. "The dude's a freakin' ball of sunshine." He cleared his throat. "So, anyway, uh. Sushi." Sean held up the crumpled money. "I can't let this go to waste. Would you like to join me?"

Signe stifled a laugh. "I'm kind of working here...but the last person interested in staying here was you, and I don't do much, either. I can do an hour."

"Great. That's enough time," Sean agreed eagerly. "It's a date."

Signe made a weird sound in the back of her throat. She was taken aback by his words, but she knew he meant it in a casual way. "It's a date."

~***~

Once in a blue moon, Chase is right about things. Recommending the Japanese restaurant to Sean was the best thing he'd done all year.

Sean and Signe had the greatest time trying different sushis and dishes. They made faces at the ones that had a funny taste and laughed when the other was sticking their tongue out from spicy foods. In the end, they ended up really enjoying the California rolls and sashimi. The check wasn't as pricey as Signe thought it was going to be, so when Sean told her it was under sixty dollars she sighed in relief.

"I just feel bad about using too much of your friend's money," Signe confessed.

"I wouldn't worry too much," Sean assured her. "Chase is a generous guy, and he makes a lot of money to being with."

"It's just...I feel like we shouldn't take advantage of it," Signe said.

"You're absolutely right," Sean said. "I always make sure to return the favors somehow."

They finished their dinner fast, so when they left the restaurant they still had twenty minutes to kill. Signe suggested they go walking around like tourists. Sean agreed, and they set off down the streets to window shop. They tried on funky glasses and looked inside an antique shop. They found a few cool things in there like skeleton keys and an old-fashioned typewriter.

"Hey, Sean, check this out," Signe said, waving him over to a bookshelf. She pulled out a thick book made of leather with a title written in Italian. Sean watched her flip through the pages. The entire book was slightly charred, as if it had once sat in a fire, and there was fake blood on some of the pages with clocks. "This is so cool."

"Really wish I took a class in Italian," Sean said, frowning. "Do you want to buy it?"

"Hell no," Signe said, putting it back onto the shelf. She dusted her hands. "It looks demonic. Like, it's cool, but I don't wanna risk getting beaten up by an angry spirit."

"Yeah, best to play it safe," Sean agreed. "I don't think anyone wants to be possessed, either."

When they had ten minutes left, they finally decided to head back to the apartment. On their way there, Sean spotted a magician—the same one that always performed—doing his act near the tailor shop.

"Ooh, let's go watch it," Signe said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the magician. Sean blushed but didn't put up a fight.

The magician was wearing a white cat mask, decorated with whiskers and the four suits on his forehead. He wore a black cape that barely reached his waist. Underneath the cape, he wore a plain blue shirt. Sean almost laughed at his cat socks, which contrasted with his polished shoes.

"Welcome, welcome!" he said happily. There was a small crowd gathered around him. "My name is Marvin the Magnificent, and what you're about to witness is not for the faint of heart!"

He started small, doing sleight-of-hand card tricks and asking for audience participation. Signe ended up joining him for a trick.

"All right, now pick a card from my deck," Marvin instructed. Signe obliged. "Show it to the crowd so everyone can see...thank you...now put it back here...thanks."

He shuffled his deck for a solid ten seconds, doing a cut and splitting them into three triangles. After, he laughed and took out a knife, wiggling it in front of the crowd. "You think I'm shuffling because I'm going to pick out a card, right? No, no, no...the shuffling was a joke!"

Marvin threw the entire deck into the air. Cards fluttered up, some more than others, before falling quickly around him. He stepped back and tossed his knife into the air. Much to everyone's surprise, the knife struck a card in the center and pinned it to the ground. As people oohed, Marvin bent over and grabbed his knife and card.

"A cheesy line, but..." He held up a nine of spades. "Is this your card?"

"Holy shit, it is," Signe exclaimed. The crowd clapped in excitement.

"You know, you could probably find a meaning out of that card," Marvin said as Signe was stepping away.

"Hm?" she said.

"You know tarot cards? There's meanings in playing cards, too." Marvin winked at her and continued his next trick.

"That was eventful," Signe remarked as she reached Sean. He nodded.

"What'd he tell you?"

"Something about tarot cards?" Signe said, cocking her head to the side. "I don't know, I'll probably look it up later." She frowned. "He seems a little...off."

"As in, off _weird_?" Sean asked.

"No, just...he doesn't seem happy," Signe said quietly. "Maybe it's just me..."

They watched the rest of his act. Finally, when he concluded his performance for the day and bid everyone a farewell, Sean stepped up to hand him a five dollar bill.

"Thanks, mate," Marvin said gratefully. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Sean said. He glanced at the tailor shop. There didn't seem to be a business hours sign on the front. "Uh, do you know when the tailor opens his store?"

Marvin's face dropped. His muscles seized up so fast Sean stepped back, expecting a fight.

"Are you okay?" Sean asked. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"N-No," Marvin said quickly. "Well, n...yes. I, well..." He closed his mouth and grabbed his bag. He rummaged through it and pulled out a piece of paper, wordlessly handing it to Sean.

He blinked. In big red letters at the top, it said MISSING. Underneath it was a black and white picture of a man in a bowler hat and a black vest and a bowtie. The name read Jameson Jackson. There was a small description of him, like his weight, height, key features, and eye color.

With a jolt, Sean immediately recognized the man's name. He remembered picking up the package and opening it to find his new suit and a letter. The signature at the bottom was only signed as JJ—it must've stood for Jameson Jackson. Oh God...he was missing.

"He's...missing?" Sean asked, staring at the magician. "You haven't seen him?"

"No, I haven't since about two and a half weeks ago," Marvin said bitterly. Two and a half weeks ago...that was around the time Sean got the suit. Could it have been the same day? "I _know_ he wouldn't just up and go. He's not that kind of guy. He'd let someone know. It was foul play."

"Oh, shit," Sean said. His stomach was sinking, filling with guilt. Could Jameson Jackson's disappearance have something to do with him? Not Sean himself, but as Jack? He held the paper a little tighter. "I-I'll search for him as well. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, it's not like it's your fault," Marvin muttered. "I could've done more...pressured the police more—they've practically given up the case..."

"You can't blame yourself for that," Sean found himself saying. Marvin looked at him in bewilderment. "It's not healthy to blame yourself for things beyond your control."

Marvin huffed, packed up the rest of his things, and pursed his lips. "Thanks for the money. And thanks, if you actually are going to help find him."

"I will," Sean promised. He awkwardly flashed a peace-sign. As he walked Signe back to the apartment, he couldn't help but think about that conversation. The missing flyer was in his jacket pocket, and though it was just a piece of paper, it carried more weight than the world. "You said he didn't look happy?"

"It was just a feeling," Signe admitted shyly. "Why? Did he say something?"

"He talked to me about stuff," Sean answered. "Nothing that raised a red flag, if that's what you're thinking of."

"Ah."

Sean and Signe made it back to the apartment before the end of the hour. When they entered, the lobby was empty, as they expected.

"Thanks for a really fun night," Signe said, moving to get behind her desk. She hesitated, before saying, "I haven't felt that much joy in a long time."

"Me too," Sean said, smiling. "Let's do this again sometime. Maybe..." He took a breath, thoughts spiraling in his head. He shouldn't say it so early, but he wanted to try it... "Maybe the next time, we can do a real date?"

Signe's eyes widened. For a second, Sean cursed himself for thinking he could even say that. Why would he make a move? Clearly she didn't reciprocate. However,—

"A real date," she acknowledged. "Yeah. Let's do it."

"It's a date?" he asked, as if giving her one last chance to rethink things through.

"It's a date," Signe said firmly.

As Sean took the elevator back to his room, heart pounding, he realized he was going to have to thank Chase later. Turns out the man could be right about many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been leaving kudos, guests and users alike! Your kudos don't go unnoticed :D
> 
> Lastly, this was a late chapter, I'm so sorry. I said July 10th and it's July 11th. However, I'm kind of happy with this chapter—a few good Easter eggs and some minor HmMMMms, as well as a ;) oh and despite the :( it ended with a <3
> 
> Anyway, happy (late) birthday to JackieBoy Man! Hope you all have a great day.


	33. Partners Against Crime Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're PAC-Men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend made a new webcomic based off of OCs created years ago! It's called Card Council and it's on Webtoon! I encourage you all to go check it out and see what it's about! :D
> 
> Link to Card Council: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/card-council/list?title_no=206474&page=1

After almost a week of thinking, Sean decided to visit the address on the slip of paper.

At this point, he wondered if the person who even gave it to him would still be there, expecting him. Maybe they gave up after the first few days, or even gave it to him as a joke?

It didn't feel like a joke to Sean. As he wondered over his coffee, he realized it could have been an elaborate scheme by Anti, trying to lure him into an isolated location for whatever nefarious purpose he had. Sean didn't like the sound of that, but eventually his curiosity got the better of him, and he changed into Jack and flew off towards the address, the paper balled up in his fist. Sam wanted to come along with him, as the eyeball hadn't been with him in the action for a little while now, but Sean insisted they stay with Robbie in the apartment. Sean found himself keeping Sam safe in the apartment more often than usual, mostly out of paranoia. Sean didn't know what he was so afraid about Sam's safety for. It just became a natural urge.

Again, the best time to arrive at a location was under the cover of night, where people were least likely to hang around in the park, but Jack could have done it in the day, seeing as the park was always deserted. There wasn't much to offer—the ground was uneven, which ruined picnics, and the branches from the trees were brittle, dropping unexpectedly. Sean remembered a news article a year back where someone suffered a concussion because a giant branch fell on their head.

As he touched down on the dry grass, he noticed there was a van in the parking lot. It was white, with a big logo on it, but two guys were leaning against it, blocking the words. The satellite dish on the top stuck out like a sore thumb; Jack realized he'd seen this van before—at the scene where the building collapsed from a fire, and the newest location where a building chalk full of criminals exploded. Even on TV, it was parked off in the distance where the news reporters talked.

One of the guys spotted Jack in the park and waved, nudging the other man. They both smiled and started towards Jack. They were both in casual clothes—collared blue shirts and beige pants, although it could've been off-white in a lighted area. When they were in close range of Jack, he recognized their faces—well, one face, technically. They were twins, to be exact, with faces so similar they were mistaken for one person.

"Hello, hello!" one of them said within talking distance. "You're Jack!"

Jack started to back up, preparing to take flight. "Sorry, I didn't think—I didn't come here for an interview—"

"Wait, no," the other said quickly, "this isn't an interview! Jim, I thought you wrote that down?"

"You didn't tell me to!" Jim 2 exclaimed. Jack was beginning to feel awkward.

"Oh, and I'm supposed to tell you to do something? Jesus, Jim, I can't do everything for you," Jim 1 said. "And—oh yeah." He glanced back at Jack, who was already two feet in the air. "Sorry, we got carried away. Ahem. I'm so sorry for the very _vague_ note we gave you, but this isn't for an interview."

"Uhh...thanks," Jack said. "If this isn't an interview, are you trying to find out who I am?"

"No, not that either!" Jim 2 said. "Well, that would be cool to know...but that's not what this is about. We wanted to make a deal."

"A...deal? Like a devil deal? Sorry, demon deal?" 

"No!" they both shouted at the same time. Jim 1 continued, "It's more of a partnership, really. If you don't know who we are, we're the Jim Twins!"

"I know who you are," Jack said. "You run Jim News."

"Great!" Jim 1 said happily. "We do stories about crime and interesting topics in Capo City, as well as investigate when we can. For the past four months, we've had a lot of intriguing investigations going on, but we're not exactly equipped to dive deeper into them."

Jack said. "'Dive deeper', what does that mean?"

"We don't have the muscle or the reputation for stuff," Jim 2 said flatly. "Look at us. Do we look like we go to the gym?"

"This is why you're the cameraman," Jim 1 told his brother. "Let me do the talking from now on."

"It's nothing illegal, I promise," Jim 1 said earnestly. "It's borderline illegal, but isn't everything nowadays? We always make sure we don't cross the chalk line. We've made quite a fortune from casinos—no, we didn't scam our way to wealth—and we're willing to pay you to help us on cases. News articles, investigations, sting operations...you name it."

"Sting operations in journalism is undercover journalism," Cameraman Jim added.

"You want to play detective?" Jack asked. He didn't see too much of a problem, except for the fact that they were news reporters who could find out who he was underneath a mask easier than before. Jack would just have to be careful around them and try not to say anything too revealing. He shrugged. "Okay. I'll help you."

"Wow, really?" Cameraman Jim asked.

"Yeah, I could use an interesting job," Jack said. "It sounds like a good cause, too. You want to catch criminals. Me too."

"Great, great!" Jim 1 said. He rummaged in his pants pocket and pulled out a phone. Jack frowned. "It's a burner phone. We can keep in touch this way."

"You really thought a lot about this," Jack said, slightly impressed.

"Of course we did," Jim 1 said as if it were obvious. "Thanks again."

Jack nodded as they left for their news van. As he watched them drive away, Jack touched his ear.

"They weren't wearing wires," Robbie's voice said over their comms device. "I guess you didn't have to worry about anything."

"You never know," Jack said back to him, grinning. "I didn't want to take the chance."

"So you're actually gonna work with them on stuff?"

"Why not?"

"No reason. You just don't seem like the type who collaborates for fun."

"I'm working with you and Bing, aren't I?"

"You ditched that doctor after you crossed paths _twice_ ," Robbie said, his voice exasperated. "You almost didn't tell me about the paper."

"You're right—I don't collaborate for fun." Jack smiled and flew up, then looked around for which direction lead to his apartment. "I'm getting paid."

"Is that really what a superhero does? Be a hero for money?"

"Have you ever heard of law enforcement?" Jack retorted jokingly.

"But you're not law enforcement."

"Oooh, sorry, Rob, I'm cutting—skrr—out," Jack said. "Must—skrr—be the connection—skrr—in the air."

"Jack—"

"Ahaha, skrr!" Jack touched his ear again and turned Robbie's voice off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the short break! I wrote this on July 22 because this is kind of the direction I want to take the story in (not the best way, but it was that or something else worse). However, at this time, I haven't completed the outline and have no idea what comes after this chapter. I do have ideas stirring around, but I don't have the bridges to connect them.
> 
> July 24 me: Well I didn't plan on posting this so early but today is Self-Care Day (that's a thing?) and I want to say that you guys should take time off for yourselves if you ever need it. It sounds wrong but sometimes it's better to put yourself before another person--as in, help yourself first so you can help them. I'm rambling a little; take things slow and don't apologize for it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> My Tumblr - https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com


	34. The Cobalts and the Purgs

The next two days were quite peaceful. No big, insane crimes were being committed in Capo City, except for the occasional mugging. The news didn't really have too much to talk about, which was a first. Crime never got a chance to catch its breath in the city, but it seemed that ever since Jack made a name for himself as a superhero, protector of Capo City, criminals were wising up and starting to realize they couldn't get away with everything anymore.

At least, that's what people thought. It turned out that crime _does_ take breaks. When it does, it's known as the calm before the storm.

It was seven in the evening. Restaurants were hitting their peak in customers and the streets were well lit up. People hopped on and off trains, drove a car, or just walked. Cars were more of a nuisance in Capo City—the train was cheaper and people didn't have to pay for parking, if there even _was_ parking. Patients from Heartstone Hospital were finally being allowed to leave—at least, the patients who weren't critically injured from the exploding building earlier in the week.

A truck pulled up in the parking lot of the hospital. There were five men sitting in the hood of the car, each of them wearing cargo pants and orange bandannas. Most of them carried a gun, except for the driver, who had a hunting knife at his belt. They stared at the hospital with disdain, scouting it out.

The parking lot was unusually empty, which made it easier for them to do what they wanted. There weren't much witnesses, nobody to run and cry for help. The people inside were their target, just fish in a barrel.

The six men approached the hospital's doors. They were made of glass, so the people inside could see them approaching. Their eyes went wide with terror as they slowly comprehended the guns and the orange bandannas. A few ran, a few tapped others on the shoulders and backed away. The men entered the hospital, raising their guns.

"Who runs this shit show of a health clinic?" one of them demanded, hefting his gun.

A man in a red suit popped out from behind the front desk, green hair flopping under his red hood. He raised his hand. "I'm not the manager of this place but I'm sure I can help you out there!" The men stepped back as Jack stood tall. They weren't expecting a _superhero_ to show up. "Orange bandannas, huh?"

The next few moments happened quickly. Gunshots rang in the lobby, there were screams and the sounds of glass shattering. In the next moment, the men were lying around the hospital, guns sprawled. The door was broken through—one of the men's feet were partly in it. Jack was crouched near one of them, inspecting the orange bandanna like evidence from a crime scene.

"The Purgs," he muttered. Short for The Purgatory. They were a pretty large street gang that were known for drug trafficking and weapons dealing, not picking fights with hospitals. Why would they try to shoot up a hospital?

And then he remembered that The Purgs lost a lot of their crew when Antisepticeye slaughtered them five days ago. Of course they'd be angry, except they were blaming the wrong people.

"The police are on their way," a receptionist told Jack. He nodded and bent his knees.

A German voice spoke up, their voice clear from a hallway down. "Jack?"

The superhero rocketed into the sky without looking back.

~***~

A day later, Jack got two calls, one from Robbie and another from the Jim Twins. They were both telling him about a recent drive-by in southern Capo City, targeted at another gang called The Cobalts, who dealt primarily with drugs.

"We're nearing the scene," Reporter Jim said over the phone. "If you wanna tag along, meet us there."

"Got it." Jack hung up the phone. He rushed to put his suit on, almost tripping over his shoe laces, and headed south towards the address Jim sent him. When he arrived, he was surprised to find a pub as the location. There was a line of police tape surrounding the building and most of the street near it, but there wasn't any crowd there to witness the police investigation. Jack spotted a woman observing the pub from her window at a nearby apartment.

He focused his eyes back to the pub. There were police swarming the inside, shining flashlights at every surface in their sight. There were shards of glass littering tarps on the floor with an unmistakable, human mold. A few police passed by Jack, talking in hushed voices.

"—doing a sweep on the basement and confiscating the drugs," one of them was saying.

"—much meth is in there?"

"'Bout two hundred pounds."

"Fucking hell—" They eyed Jack with a bit of uneasiness. He waved at them innocently and watched them walk inside. Some of the pool tables were shot with bullet holes, and a few cue sticks were slicked with dark blood.

"Disgusting," a voice said next to him. One of the Jims was staring at the sign above the entrance door, avoiding eye contact with the strewn bodies before him. It was Cameraman Jim—he was the twin with the double eyelid and a paler complexion, giving him an almost stoic expression. "Jim thinks it's got to do with yesterday—you know, at Heartstone Hospital."

"I was lucky I was there," Jack muttered. A few police turned to look at him with a mix of confusion and awe, but they didn't talk to him...yet. "I can't imagine what it would be like if The Purg opened fire."

"Probably shouldn't think about that, yeah," Cameraman Jim agreed. He brightened up when he saw Reporter Jim approaching. "We can get started?" he asked.

"No, they turned me down immediately and told me to fuck off," Reporter Jim said bluntly. "That doesn't matter now! I've been snooping around and asking gullible police officers about it, and I've already got everything. So!" He gestured at the dead bodies under the tarps. "This pub is owned by The Cobalts, and it's one of their main headquarters."

"Was," Jack corrected. "The police are cracking down on all their drugs."

"Ooh, that's good," Reporter Jim said. "Everyone inside the pub died—all Cobalts, no civilian fatalities. The police don't know who did it but they've got an itching clue that it was The Purgs, judging from yesterday's attempt at Heartstone. Good job, by the way."

"Thanks."

"The question is, what the fuck are the Purgs doing? Is this their idea of a temper tantrum?"

"They attacked the hospital because the hospital failed to save their members. Maybe The Cobalts had something to do with it?" Cameraman Jim asked.

Jack shook his head. "No, the Cobalts weren't involved. It was a lone act, though you're onto something. The Cobalts probably pissed off the Purgs enough for this to happen and we don't know why. There might be a gang war between the two."

"Great," Cameraman Jim said. Jack couldn't tell if he meant it. "That'll probably make the front headlines." He spread his hands out in front of him like he was imagining a title. "'Crackdown on Cobalt Drugs'. Or what about 'Gang War Between Purgs and Cobalts'?" The Jim held out his hand to Jack. "Thanks for tagging along, partner. We'll see you around, and you'll see us on the news!"

"Uh, no problem," Jack said. "Call me if you need anything else."

The Jim Twins said their goodbyes and left the area. As they drove off in their van, Reporter Jim made eye contact with a police officer and flipped him off. The officer's mouth opened indignantly, but he closed it when Jack started to laugh. He quickly stifled his laughter and left the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Purg and the Cobalts are the cheesiest names I found in the random generator, I hope you like them lmao
> 
> This is the start of another shenanigan and I'm fucking ready to write this stuff. Also I felt the need to post something TODAY, which is why the chapter's short (it was going to be longer). Enjoy :D
> 
> Tumblr: https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com


	35. Talk Softly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha gotcha! You thought it'd be one update today, but no! With two hours to spare I have managed to write half an actual chapter!

Robbie knew who was knocking at his door. He set his coffee mug onto its coaster and padded towards the door, preparing himself for another request. He peeked outside the door and smiled back at Sean.

"Need something?" Robbie assumed. He must have said it wrong, because Sean's smile became sheepish and almost embarrassed.

"Heh, kind of," Sean said, glancing away. "I didn't think Bing would be interested in hearing it—he's mostly interested in Google IRL as of recent. You're the only person I've got right now."

Robbie opened the door wider and stepped back. "Come on in."

Sean wasn't the same man he'd been when they first met—at least, in Robbie's mind. Sean's only objective was to get enough money to stay in the apartment. Now, it was to protect the city and keep people safe, regardless of financial situations. It was almost a life-changing transformation. Sean's shoulders were arched back, his posture a little straighter, and he smiled a lot more. It was like a part of being Jack seeped into Sean's real personality and helped him become more confident in his abilities.

Sean sat down on the sofa as Robbie grabbed a mug. "I'm sorry for coming to you about a lot of things," Sean started.

"You don't have to be sorry," Robbie said simply. "I'm glad you trust me enough with all of this. What's going on?"

"There's been two incidents in the last few days," Sean said. "One with the Purgs and the Cobalts."

Robbie read the newspaper and listened to the news daily, so he understood a lot about Capo City. The Cobalts were notorious for drug trafficking, but they weren't much for smuggling weapons or cold-blooded violence. The Purgs were harsher and larger in numbers. They dominated two blocks on the outskirts of Capo City, kind of near the park where Jack met the two Jims. They competed with the Cobalts for drugs, but they also dabbled in weapons dealing. Just yesterday, there was a news article claiming the Purgs were going to shoot up Heartstone Hospital, but were stopped by Jack. Robbie assumed this is what it was about. "I didn't know the Cobalts were on the rise again."

"The news probably didn't get to it yet," Sean said. "I think Jim said the police are trying to keep things quiet for now, at least until they know what they're dealing with, which brings me to my next point. We're pretty sure the Purgs shot at the Cobalts."

"You're pretty sure?" Robbie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not a coincidence," Sean said. "The Purgs can't get their revenge on Heartstone so they move onto another target. It makes sense because they're rival gangs."

"They're ruthless, but they're not outright stupid," Robbie interjected. He forgot about the coffee for a second and hastily poured some into the empty mug. "The Purgs wouldn't attack simply because they hate the Cobalts. That would be chaos if there was no reason."

Sean frowned. "You're saying...if they have a reason it's justified?"

"Oh, you sweet summer child." Robbie shook his head. "If you hate someone, would you punch them there and then? You wouldn't—you'd only do so if they _really_ wronged you, like if they killed your children."

"You're not good at explaining things, are you?"

Robbie sighed. He passed the mug to Sean, who took it gratefully. "I try my best. What I'm saying is, there's always a motive with these things. Unfortunately, you really have no way of knowing what it is until things escalate or the news reports about it."

Sean shrugged. "I mean...there _is_ a way to find out."

"Oh?"

"I could go and ask them," Sean suggested. Robbie stared at him blankly. He didn't even seem like he was joking; he was genuinely serious. "It wouldn't hurt to ask. Who knows, maybe they'd tell me."

"That's your worst idea yet," Robbie said. "It's gonna hurt to ask when you end up getting _shot_."

"I've been shot at multiple times," Sean assured. "I've always ended up fine."

"They're not gonna just let you waltz in there," Robbie argued.

"Well, I'm not gonna just let them shoot me," Sean joked. "Look, it's better than waiting for another tragedy. Besides, I could try to diffuse the situation. Stop anymore animosity between the two gangs."

"You really should have gone to Bing instead of me," Robbie muttered.

"You're the wise one," Sean said.

The compliment didn't do much to ease Robbie's spirits, but he sighed. "You're gonna do it even if I disagree, and that's the worst part."

"Mm. So you can either help me succeed or watch me die."

Robbie laughed without humor. "I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

~***~

Robbie spent the next hour pouring over every news article about gang related activity in Capo City, as if that would somehow help Jack. There was no "strategy" with this—he just had to trust that Jack could handle himself and not get shot by two gangs. What Robbie did find was one of the Cobalt's main bases—a bar instead of a pub.

In the end, the plan was simple worded yet an actual challenge. Jack was supposed to walk into the bar and talk to the leader of the Cobalts in the hopes that they had some answers for him. If not, then run like hell and hope he can outrun a bullet. Easier said than done.

Before Jack left on his little quest, Robbie grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Don't die," he said in a quiet voice. "Just because the Cobalts are less cruel than the Purgs doesn't mean they won't shoot you. I'd hate to see my closest friend die because of me."

"It's nice to know you consider me close even though we've known each other for two months, max," Jack said, winking. "I'll be good."

Robbie waved him off as he jumped through the window. In the back of his mind, he wondered exactly what he had just got his friend into. Robbie bit his lip. He knew Jack would be careful. It wasn't like he had a death wish. Still, the constant fear that his best friend was out risking his life was like a weight on his shoulders.

But it was a weight that Robbie was prepared to carry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also a shorter chapter, because if I write this correctly (pre-written post note), then the next chapter will finish this chapter's title. This also will let me set up for Chapter 37, a chapter I've been wanting to write ever since I started this fic. The title of it will fit into the "story" of it.
> 
> Update: My WiFi cut out when I was finishing up the chapter and I copy pasted it into Discord to see if it'd stick but it didNT so now I've gotta rewrite the chapter again from memory...fun times fun times...and I had such good dialogue....so now I'm cutting this chapter short and labeling it the shortest chapter on this story to date! (Jesus by the time I get to the climax I won't have any more space for chapters)
> 
> Thanks for all the kind comments and kudos you guys have been sending! It's much appreciated and it's a great motivator to push chapters out! So thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support! Especially the recent kudos and new people who are reading the story! I hope you're enjoying the ride so far! ;D
> 
> Tumblr: https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com


	36. Carry a Big Stick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Slight graphic depictions of violence.

For a bar located in a rural part of Capo City, it was well kept.

The atmosphere was quiet, somber. The streetlights flickered on an off beat, casting curvy shadows onto the pavement where Jack walked. The moon was full and glistening. Before him, the street was deserted and buildings were closed for the day, further isolating him to the darkness. On the outside, the bar was warmly lit by hanging lightbulbs that dangled lazily. A sign above the door read: The Blues. Jack guessed they had enough humor to purposefully title it so. There were tiny plants rested on the windowsill—if Signe were there she'd love it. The windows itself were tinted, allowing passerby to look at them and wonder what was going on inside.

Overall, it didn't feel like the base of a drug trafficking street gang, but Jack shouldn't judge a book by its cover. He took a breath and touched his mask. He found himself double checking to make sure it was still on his face before he did something in the public eye; sometimes he wondered if Sam made it so that only Jack could see the mask and not other people, like an illusion just for one. Or maybe it would disappear because Sam was too far away from him. Despite his doubts, Jack's mask never slipped off his face.

He pushed open the door. A soft chime from a little bell issued above the door, and all pairs of eyes turned towards him, sizing him up. He heard the distinctive click of guns being cocked and ready to fire and promptly held up his hands. There were about twenty men in the bar, all of them standing up at attention, their arms at their sides. They were bracing themselves, Jack understood immediately.

"Hi," Jack said calmly. He urged his heartbeat to slow down. "I'm here to talk, not fight. So please...don't shoot me."

"The mighty superhero," one of the men drawled. "Are you here to grace us with your presence?"

Jack's face flushed. He put down his hands. "No," he said indignantly. "I'm here to talk, like I just said. Um, with your leader, preferably. Are they here?"

"No," the man answered immediately, crossing his arms. He had a sleeve of tattoos, all of which looked tribal—maybe Hawaiian? "They ain't here."

"Well, that's a shame," Jack said innocently. "I really would have liked to meet with them. You know, to talk about why the Purgs kicked your ass so easily."

The guns were pointed at his face in an instant. Jack didn't dare to back down and show that he was truly scared inside. As much as they didn't show it, he knew they were on edge as much as him. He was like a wild card: unpredictable and full of surprises.

"Let's slow down a minute, shall we?" a smooth voice at the back said. The mens' arms dipped a little, but they didn't put their guns away yet. "I spent a lot of money on this bar, and I don't intend for it to be destroyed."

Jack spotted a beige Bailey hat over the heads of the men. As the person pushed through, their men parted around them in obedient silence. A dark man in a blue suit was approaching him at a leisure pace. His hands were in his pockets. He had a strong jawline and light brown eyes, with his hair buzzed near his ears. He radiated suave, like a millionaire who spent his time playing pool at the fanciest of bars with celebrities. Except...he probably didn't hang out with celebrities.

"Am I right in assuming you're the leader?" Jack asked.

"Mm. That'd be me."

~***~

The second time Robbie heard a knock at his door, he didn't know who it was. He didn't have a peephole, so he was extremely shocked to see Bing standing outside when he opened his door. The android was wearing his usual tank top and jeans. His orange shades, as well as his skateboard, were duct taped together messily.

"Bing!" Robbie exclaimed. "What are you—what's up?"

"Sah dude." Bing grinned. "Do you know where Jack is?" Bing asked curiously, looking over Robbie's head (who was starting to feel self-conscious about his height) and into his room. "Tried calling him earlier, but the doofus wouldn't pick up. He with you?"

"No, he's out as Jack," Robbie said. He laughed nervously. "Uh, what did you need?"

"Ah, just wanted to talk to him about our dear old buddy, Google IRL. I've got concerns and, you know, stuff. Where exactly is he in the city? Like, I can try finding him now."

"He's...God, how do I say this..." Robbie murmured. "He's kind of at a Cobalt bar."

"Cobalt, like, Cobalts gang?" Bing choked in disbelief. "Whoa, shit. And you _let him_?"

"He's trying to find out why the Purgs have been targeting them so he can stop it," Robbie said, shaking his head.

"Dude, they're gonna shred him to bits!" Bing cried. "I'll go there now."

"Wait!" Robbie rushed inside his apartment, rummaging in his desk. Bing was still at the door when Robbie shoved an earpiece into his hand. "Take this. I'll be on the other end in case you need help. Jack's at The Blues."

"Hey, I went there once!" Bing recalled. "It was super fancy and—oh my God I went to a gang-owned bar." Bing lifted his skateboard and plugged in his earpiece. "Later, Rob!"

"Later, skater," Robbie replied. Bing raced down the hallway, his loud footsteps thudding. Robbie couldn't wait to get that noise complaint.

~***~

The leader of the Cobalts held out his hand, which Jack eyed nervously. His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Please, I don't bite."

Feeling like he had no choice, Jack shook the dude's hand. His grip was strong and his hands were calloused. He must've done hard labor for some time in his life. "I'm Jack."

"I know that already," the man said, letting go. He put his hands back into his pockets. "I've seen you on the news. You beat up some Purgs at a hospital."

"Er, yes," Jack said. "I'm here to talk to you about that, actually."

"I know that already," the man repeated. He waved his hand to the back of the bar, where a cozy booth was packed into the corner. There were curtains and everything. "Come with me. Unless you feel unsafe...then you can leave the way you came."

Jack shook his head and followed the mysterious man to the booth. He tried to ignore the burning stares from the other men in the room. They seemed just as bewildered as Jack. The superhero sat down on the opposite side of the man.

"You haven't told me your name yet," Jack blurted. "I feel like I should at least know you before we hold a conversation."

The man raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised at the request. "It's Leon." He closed the curtains, and the booth grew darker. "Onto business, I guess. You show up at my bar and say you want to discuss the Purgs. Elaborate."

"I was at your pub earlier," Jack started. "I was told that every Cobalt in there was shot to death, but they didn't know who the shooters were."

"And you know as well as I do who it was," Leon said in a low voice. "Why would you come to me for this? Just to confirm your little theory?" He scoffed. "Maybe my men should have shot you when you entered."

"It wasn't just for that," Jack said, knitting his eyebrows. "A friend told me that the Purgs would never start something unless they had good reason. So why would they try something now?"

"I don't know what you're insinuating, and neither does your friend," Leon said.

"What exactly did you do?" Jack asked. Leon's eyebrows furrowed in response. Jack continued, adding urgency into his voice. "They'll keep coming for your men until they're satisfied. Did you kill someone from their gang?"

"No." Leon's face scrunched up in anger. "We didn't do _anything_. They just _think_ we did something."

"W-What do you mean?"

"They're weapons dealers," Leon explained after a moment's hesitation. "But they don't _only_ sell guns. They sell stolen tech from companies. It sells high on the black market. After the recent events—the explosion, the hospital's mishap—they're putting the blame on us."

"They think you stole something on the day their building exploded," Jack guessed. Leon nodded slowly. "A piece of tech valuable to them. So that means it's been stolen by someone else."

 _"Stolen by _someone_ else?"_ a voice echoed. Jack heard commotion outside of the booth and paled, glancing nervously at Leon. The leader seemed just as tense as himself.

"Leon, what did you do?"

"I-I didn't do anything," Leon said defensively, even a little too quickly. He reached for his pocket instinctively as his face went blank.

Jack ripped the curtains apart and stepped out. He nearly had a heart attack.

The Cobalts were standing in a loose semicircle, their guns trained on a man in the middle. He wore all black, and his dark green hair was wild, just like the look in his eyes. There was blood dripping down his chin, and a wide grin on his face.

Antisepticeye's eyes drifted onto Jack's figure. "Hello, _Jack_. So _nice_ to _see_ you again."

Jack took a step back. Leon stood in front of him, his shoulders broad.

"Who are you?" Leon demanded. "This—this is a private space—"

"'Stolen by someone else'," Antisepticeye repeated mockingly, making air quotations. "You tell such _false_ lies, S̀ol̵om̢ón. I didn't come here to _buy them_."

"What's he saying?" Jack said, eyes flitting to Leon uneasily. "Is it really stolen? Or did you actually take it?"

Leon gritted his teeth. There were flecks of gold on his bottom row of teeth. "Kill the man," he ordered.

Jack shouted, "No!" just as Antisepticeye whipped out his knife. Bullets crashed into the glass windows and fractured the panes, but they didn't hit their mark. Antisepticeye weaved through the sprays of bullets and started hacking at Cobalts left and right. Jack darted forward as Antisepticeye slit the throat of a Cobalt and shoved him into a wall, pinning the hand holding the knife.

Antisepticeye was strong. Jack struggled to keep Antisepticeye from moving as the demon cackled. "Is this your best?"

"Don't shoot yet!" Leon shouted to his men. Jack made the mistake of glancing back. Antisepticeye slammed his head into Jack and sent him stumbling back. He slashed the knife towards Jack and tore another gash into his suit near the shoulder. Jack barely flinched. He jumped back and gave himself space while Antisepticeye hacked towards him, the knife a blur in the air.

 _I need to get him out of here and into the open,_ Jack thought. _But how?_

Jack's eyes glanced up at the ceiling. He clenched his jaw, bracing himself, and rushed at Anti. Jack ducked. Anti's knife flew over his head with a whoosh! Jack grunted and wrapped his arms around the demon's chest and jumped high. The ceiling broke from the force of Jack and Anti and the pair blasted into the night sky.

"Clever," Anti giggled. He glared at Jack. His eyes started to glow green. "But you're still so _weak_."

"Huh—?"

Anti broke free from Jack's grasp and dropped like a stone. Jack watched him fall for a second, convinced he was going to fall and break himself, until Anti's body morphed into a ball of shadow and hit the ground. "Fuck!" Jack flew after him from the sky. Anti's shadow morphed back into his body as Jack touched the pavement.

Anti turned around with his knife and laughed. Jack barely veered to the side and avoided the knife. He rolled to the ground, out of breath.

"I'm getting that piece of tech whether you like it or not," Antisepticeye sneered.

"Not while I'm here," Jack challenged.

"Such co͘nfi̕de҉nce for someone badly beaten in a _hospital_ ," Antisepticeye shot back. Jack glared at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Leon hurrying away in the bar, followed by a few of his remaining men. "Are you sure you're ready for _round two_?"

Anti turned to the bar entrance and sprinted towards it. 

_Now is my chance!_ Jack thought. He hurtled towards Anti and threw himself at the demon. Anti tumbled forward before Jack could slam into him and dispersed into the shadow of the streetlight. He appeared under it a second later, looking particularly amused.

"You're a little faster than last week," Antisepticeye remarked. "It'll never be enough."

"It doesn't matter," Jack said. He balled his fists. "As long as you don't get the tech, I win."

"Oh, is that _so_?" Antisepticeye asked. "Fine. I'll h͜u͘ḿo͜r you for tonight. I can always have _him_ get it for me."

Jack's gut twisted. Without looking around, he knew who arrived with Antisepticeye.

The streetlight beside Antisepticeye crackled with newfound electricity, and a bolt of energy struck the pavement.

Google IRL appeared from the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure a lot of you U.S. people know what the chapter title is referencing.
> 
> And now that this chapter has been completed, it means I can finally write the chapter that I have been thinking about since June. JUNE! All I can say is...hell yeah. And the chapter's title will be a reference to a song—maybe even a certain character's _theme_.
> 
> Yoù can̨'͞t͝ ͠ţa҉k͝e ͘bac̀k t͝he̴ ͢da̵m͞a͏ge y̛ou'v͡e do̸n͘e.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll catch you in the next update! ;)


	37. Man or a Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMNcq_EvArU
> 
> 010001110110111101101111011001110110110001100101001001110111001100100000011101000110100001100101011011010110010100101110

"Get the piece of tech from the leader of the Cobalts," Antisepticeye ordered. "Kill everyone in your way."

"Accepted."

Google IRL regarded Jack for a moment, scanning him with glazed eyes, before turning. His face, while perfectly devoid of any facial flaws, had a sudden flaw to it. Jack couldn't sense what it was that had changed Google IRL's face, but the robot turned and took off into the bar. Jack gritted his teeth and took a step forward, but Antisepticeye snapped towards him in an instant, forcing him back.

"You're not stopping it," Antisepticeye gloated. He pointed his knife at Jack, who glared at the sharp tip. "You can only do so much as a hero, you know?"

"Oh, fuck you," Jack said angrily. His eyes scanned the area; even in the dim lighting, he could spot a figure down the street, charging at them. Jack smiled. "I'm not here to stop Google. He is." Then he raised his voice and called: "Google's inside!"

With a sudden scraping sound of wheels against a rocky sidewalk, a skateboard rocketed into the air, along with its rider. Bing went airborn as Antisepticeye finally spotted him. He kicked his legs into the air and caught the skateboard, then hit the ground running. Antisepticeye hissed and outstretched his arm in an attempt to latch onto Bing and drag him back, but Jack was prepared. He closed the distance between the two and blasted into the air, slamming Antisepticeye into the streetlight. There was a solid conk as Antisepticeye's head bashed into it. Jack balled his fist.

"You're not stopping him," Jack said with a smile. He sent his fist towards Antisepticeye, but the demon dispersed into shadows and slipped away. Jack cursed; knocking out the streetlight was a stupid move. It was the only lighting aside from the bar next to them, and Antisepticeye gained an advantage with shadows. God, he was going to pay for it.

"You think you can taunt me?" Antisepticeye laughed. Jack whirled around. Antisepticeye was in the middle of the street. Against the darkness of the street, his eyes popped out like two light bulbs. "You put a lot of _faith_ into that _Bingiplier_. Don't you know he's just an android?"

"Bing's more than what you say he is," Jack retorted. "And I see you also have faith that Google won't fail you."

"Google _can't_ fail. It was born from the same c̛͇͈̱̜̫̣o̵͈̺̭͈͉̤̭r̡̲r̼͙̞͙͎u̯̜pt̴̜̱ company as—" Antisepticeye shook his head. "Still, you're foolish for trusting machines—that is the difference between you and I. You think you can befriend them, see a _person_ in them. _I_ control them."

Before Jack could respond, Antisepticeye slipped away into shadows. Jack's eyes squinted into the street, looking for any sign of a displaced shadow on the ground, and saw one creeping towards him at an unnatural speed. Jack jumped back as Antisepticeye suddenly rushed out of the shadow and straight at him, the knife flying up to where he should have been. Antisepticeye didn't pause; in the same beat he lunged foward and swung his arm counterclockwise, forcing Jack to back into a wall. The hero rolled right as Anti's knife flung past his face and embedded itself in the wall. Anti ripped it out. Dust puffed out of the bricks. Jack saw an opening and took it, lifting his leg and kicking outwards, landing a shot in Anti's gut. The demon staggered back—Jack was too focused on balancing his feet again that Anti rushed forward and swept his knife across Jack's chest. The suit ripped like paper, jagged and messy, and the pure force behind the knife dug into part of Jack's skin, cutting the spot near his right lung. Jack flinched, feeling the sting of the cut, and immediately slapped a hand on the spot, as if that would help protect himself somehow.

"Afraid to die?" Antisepticeye asked. His eyes were full of malice, but the tone he used was genuinely curious. "Only _weaklings_ fear death."

Jack gritted his teeth. The cut on his chest was beginning to subside, so he moved his hand off of it and in front of his face, making a fist. He got into a fighting stance. "I'm not afraid."

Anti narrowed his eyes suspiciously. _"Prove it."_

~***~

As Bing ran into The Blues, his first thought was, _Holy shit, I nailed that jump!_

As the rush of victory seeped out of his body, his second thought was, _Oh shit, Google's here!_

Before he could even make a plan, there was a crackling noise in his ear, like someone crushing a piece of foil. Robbie's voice spoke up. "You heard what Jack said: Google's here. You need to find him and stop him."

Bing didn't appreciate the sound of someone talking in his ear. Ever since he discovered he was a robot—or android, whatever—the thought of having someone's voice coming from his ear was uncomfortable. It was like a personal program giving him orders. Bing inhaled softly and shook off his queasiness. He scanned the area. The bar was a place of destruction. The glass windows behind him were completely destroyed, with bits of glass shards popping out onto the floor. Speaking of the floor, there were pools of blood around bodies of burly men that Bing didn't recognize. They were definitely Cobalts, Bing knew, and he shouldn't have been too troubled by their death. They were criminals, after all. But the way they died—brutally, and by the same demon that hurt Bing—it sent shivers down his spine. Bing could have been _these_ men, just another corpse on the floor because of Antisepticeye. He looked away with a frown. He related so much it was painful.

 _Focus on the problem,_ Bing reminded himself, scanning the inside of the bar. He spotted a back door near a curtained booth, which was creaked open just a smidge. There were droplets of blood underneath it, along with bullet shells. Bing pushed the door open and wandered through. It opened into a hallway where more signs of struggle appeared: blood and scrape marks were dirtying up the walls. Bing pictured Google IRL dragging Cobalts along the walls and shuddered, quickly passing through.

He shoved through the door at the end of the hallway.

~***~

Jack was holding his own, but he couldn't do it forever. His superpowers allowed him to do many incredible things, but at the end of the day, he was still a human. He got tired. He had limits.

Antisepticeye was a whole other thing. Jack wasn't fighting against a human. He was up against a monster, a _demon_. Antisepticeye didn't get tired, didn't sweat; his attacks held the same viciousness and precision as they had at the start, and they never once wavered. If Antisepticeye had limits, he certainly wasn't anywhere close to exhausting them.

He could sense it in Jack, though. After Jack created some space between them, Antisepticeye halted in his advance and smirked. "Getting tired?" he taunted. Jack held in his breath, not wanting to amuse Antisepticeye. He didn't want to show him that he was wearing out. That he really _was_ weak.

"I'm just getting started," Jack said in his most confident voice.

"You must be bone-tired if you can't even tell a white lie." Antisepticeye rushed forward in an instant, catching Jack off guard. Usually the demon liked to take time to monologue, but not this time. The surprise nearly killed Jack. His reflexes kicked in just as Antisepticeye speared his knife forward, aimed at Jack's gut. Jack blasted himself back, fast enough to feel the air part around him. Jack half expected Antisepticeye to be miffed, but the demon simply laughed and paused again, watching Jack catch his breath.

It finally occurred to Jack that maybe Antisepticeye was just messing with him, playing with him like a toy. Jack wasn't a seasoned fighter; he'd only started being a crimefighter a little over a month ago, and the criminals he fought weren't top notch, so there was no learning from that. Antisepticeye, on the other hand, was like a seasoned fighter. Anyone could be deadly with a knife, but he took it to a whole other level. Antisepticeye's movements looked jerky as if he thought of them at the last minute, but he was incredibly agile, and his attacks flowed with a smoothness only an experienced person could possess. If Antisepticeye wasn't even trying, then what was the point of this fight? Why was he still here, playing this game?

"Having doubts?" Antisepticeye asked, snapping Jack from his thoughts. Did Antisepticeye really have faith that Google IRL would come through for him? "The only way to tap out is by d—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Jack yelled. To his surprise, Anti faltered. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, I think you know why I'm here—"

" _No_ , I don't," Jack interrupted. He was really testing Anti's patience. "Why are you here, fighting me? I'm not that stupid—you could easily turn into a shadow and leave me. But you didn't. Why stay here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was _enjoying_ myself?" Anti said. He lowered his arm so that his knife was at his side. "I'm just looking for something to fill my time. After all..." He trailed off dramatically, then cackled. "Playing with that t͘a̵i͠l͜o͡r̵ is getting so _lackluster_."

~***~

The door opened with a gust of cold air. Right away, Bing knew he was outside.

As the door swung open and hit the wall to the side of him, Bing didn't have to scan the area. Google IRL was standing directly in his field of vision, towering over a dark-skinned man in a classy suit. His back was turned towards Bing.

 _Do I use the element of surprise?_ Bing thought, hesitating. _Would Google expect that?_

"Did you find him?" Robbie's voice asked. Bing touched the earpiece and muted Robbie. Not that he hated the guy, but his voice was distracting Bing from listening to Google.

"You have what I require," Google IRL said to the man. "I will not hesitate to take it from you with force."

The man's eyes flickered behind Google to Bing and widened. Bing uttered a soft curse—which censored due to his close range of Google—and cleared his throat loudly.

"Google, buddy, pal!" Bing called, stepping over the threshold. The back of the bar was nothing special, just an alley with graffiti markings and a Dumpster to Bing's right. The perfect place to hold scrap fights. But Bing wasn't here to pick one. "It's been a while."

The robot's head turned. The man behind Google IRL scrambled to his feet and ran out of the alley. Google barely noticed, much less cared. He regarded Bing with glazed eyes. His glasses were foggy despite the chilly atmosphere. "Bingiplier the android. Your status remains the same."

Bing thought back to the skatepark, when Google IRL remarked about his strength, intelligence, and threat level. "Nice to see you, too. Is that all you have to say about me?"

"That is all that is needed," Google IRL said. "You are a distraction to my task at hand. Either escort yourself out or I will be forced to deal with you."

"You don't have to do what he says, you know," Bing said. "You're better than this." When Google IRL started approaching Bing, he backed up quickly, holding out his hands. "Whoa, whoa, you don't have to fight me!"

"You leave me no choice," Google said, and swung his arm at Bing's face.

~***~

Jack's heart jumped in his throat. He heard Anti with the utmost of clarity, but his mind was drawing blanks, refusing to process what he'd said. The tailor...

"Oh, so you know him?" Anti said upon seeing Jack freeze up. "I didn't think so...he's got quite the talent for making suits..."

"What did you do to him?" Jack spat.

Anti ignored him. "Jameson Jackson...it rolls off the _tongue_ so well. _He got what he was due_." A sigh. "That's the price one pays for helping y͇̤ò̱̩͖̯̭̲̖u̯̮̥̞̤̬͕."

"You're a sick fuck," Jack muttered, but he couldn't find the strength to spit venom at Anti. His mind was focused elsewhere in the middle of their fight. Jack remembered the conversation he had with Marvin the street performer, how Marvin handed Jack the missing flyer and Jack had promised to search for him. He felt a tinge of guilt back then, wondering if Jameson's disappearance was in any way related to himself. And now, having confirmation that it was because he had helped Jack with the suit...it was all his fault. It was Jack's fault entirely.

And then, a sudden jolt coursed through his body, like a really strong, forceful punch. Jack's mind was still dazed and distracted, but he was aware that Anti had punched him in his stomach. The blow knocked the air out of Jack's lungs, and he was suddenly on the floor, his face staring at the night sky. As he reached out to push Anti away, he shouted and almost threw up. It felt like a bolt of lightning had shot through his stomach. Why did it hurt so much?

Then he felt it getting warmer and warmer until it was hot with pain. Jack's eyes drifted up as Anti planted a foot on his chest, crushing his lungs. The knife in his hand was slicked with blood. Jack's blood.

"I'll gut you here on this street until it's dawn," Anti snarled. "And when I'm done I'll leave your pitiful excuse of a body on this street for that _green eyeball_ to find."

~***~

Google IRL didn't anticipate Bing's maneuverability. As an advanced robot, he should have known better. The close walls in the alley should have made catching Bing an easy task, but the android was untouchable. He bounced from wall to wall whenever Google got close to him and avoided him like the plague. Google IRL found it infuriating.

"Why are you fighting me?" Bing said in exasperation. "We're on the same side here!"

"There are no sides in this," Google IRL said. He felt a bad taste in his mouth (taste? He didn't normally taste) and ignored it. "I have orders I need to _follow_."

"I didn't think I'd have to smack some sense into you but I'm constantly being proven wrong!" Bing said, and slugged his skateboard into Google's brain. The blow rattled Google's head and he shuddered, caught off guard by Bing's sudden aggressiveness. The android hooked his skateboard under his armpit and dashed back to the wall, tempting Google again. Perhaps Google IRL didn't anticipate Bing as well as he thought he did.

"Well, isn't this what you want?" Bing asked. "To fight me? To follow your _stupid_ orders?"

"I don't want anything," Google IRL said, grabbing at Bing. The android skirted around him.

"But you want to accomplish your task?" Bing said. "Ah!"

Google IRL finally struck luck. He managed to snag a part of Bing's tank top and grabbed the fabric. He yanked back, hard. Bing waved his arms as he was pulled towards Google and hit the ground with an "oof!", knocking the wind out of his lungs. Google IRL lifted him by the shirt and slammed him into the wall, studying him with squinted eyes. Through his glasses, he could see Anti's orders blinking with red lettering, demanding that Google IRL kill anyone in his way, yet Google IRL wasn't focused on the orders anymore. Google IRL watched for Bing's next move, almost as if asking—begging—for him to speak.

"You're not just a machine," Bing told him, as calmly as anyone could say while being held above the ground. "You're not some mindless piece of scrap that obeys people."

Google IRL clenched his jaw. "I am what my program tells me I am."

"Your program means nothing," Bing insisted. "It doesn't define who _you_ are. You're more than what you _think_ you are."

Google IRL gritted his teeth. Bing's words were echoing inside his head, as if another voice were repeating it. The sound was mildly infuriating, but it felt so familiar to Google. "You are an android. A machine designed to pass as a human. You do not understand what anything is." And yet, as Google IRL said it, he felt an utter wrongness inside his gut—a gut he wasn't supposed to have. He wasn't supposed to feel, think, want. But he was a machine that thought—a machine that was programmed to think. Feeling and wanting were never really a part of his programming...so why did he experience them?

"You can't hide behind lines of code and pretend you can't feel anything. I've seen your programming, dude! Your coding isn't like a computer's, it's unpredictable! It's _humanlike_."

A single question rose inside Google's head: _What am I?_

 _You need to remember,_ the voice urged. _He made you forget everything._

A rush of emotions suddenly welled up inside Google IRL, along with memories he didn't know he had. As memories started to flash inside his mind, Google IRL's grip on Bing loosened, and the android dropped to the ground, confused and hopeful.

_It's time to remember._

The first memory was in a factory. Google IRL was lying on a metal table. There was no feeling in his body; he didn't even know if he had a body. There were workers walking around his table, but they never interacted with him. His eyes were staring straight ahead. A man with kind eyes entered his vision and loomed over him. He was saying something to somebody outside of Google IRL's vision, and the words were inaudible to his ears.

And then there was another memory of the same man. Google IRL was standing upright next to a large computer and monitors. He was in the same factory, but the lights were off. The man was frantically typing away at the keyboard, glancing back at the door to check for something...or someone. He gripped Google IRL by the shoulders and stared at him with desperation. Parts of the door flew off in splinters, causing the man to jump. He stopped his typing at the computer and closed his eyes. After a white flash of light, the man collapsed in a heap. The door burst open.

Then Google IRL was in a warehouse, lying in a wooden crate that felt more like a coffin. The man from the last two memories was nowhere to be seen. He heard faint murmurs and footsteps echoing in the barren room. Finally, something entered his vision, but it wasn't a person—it was the top of the crate being lowered onto him. Once the coffin sealed around him, all the noise in the room stopped. He did not hear another noise for nearly two months. The only thing that occupied his time was his own thoughts—thoughts that didn't feel like his own yet came from his mind. They were frustrated and remorseful. Google IRL felt _abandoned_. It wasn't _fair_ to leave someone in a box, all alone. It wasn't _right_. It was inhumane.

Google IRL's next memory was brief. It was of a man made from shadows, hovering over him with a mix of emotions—satisfaction, pride, and something that looked sorrowful. He pressed a hang to Google IRL's chest, and the world went green.

One by one, all of his memories flooded back, overwhelming him in a thousand moments. As he slowly snapped out of it, he realized that maybe they weren't deleted memories. They were just suppressed so deep inside him that they appeared to be gone forever. But memories were hard to erase.

Google IRL blinked, once, twice. Bing was crouching in front of him, his expression worried. Worried for _Google_.

"Are you good?" Bing asked. Google could tell that the man was uneasy, expecting this to be a trick, but for once, Google couldn't _fake_ his disposition. He felt exposed, raw, vulnerable to a world he didn't know anything about, despite all of the knowledge locked inside his programming.

"I'm...I don't know," Google said, shaking his head. He rose to his feet and glanced around with a sudden panicked feeling in his stomach. The term he'd use would be "butterflies".

"What the hell just happened to you?" Bing said, keeping his distance. "You went all...jittery. And then you were spazzing out on the ground—"

"I remembered something," Google IRL muttered.

"And why does your voice sound so freaking different?"

Google IRL opened his mouth and let out a hum. His voice wasn't monotone, not the voice he had been programmed with. There was a layer to it, like someone else had slipped into his and added a flair of personality. "I think...the humanity you found in my programming wasn't really...me."

"Whaddya mean?"

"I don't think...I think there's a person in my programming."

 _In a way, you're correct,_ the voice said. It was the other half of Google's new voice, the one that sounded real. _We used to be two people. But we're the same, now._

"Okay, Google, I kind of trust you now and stuff, but let's try to save that shit for later," Bing said, picking up his fallen skateboard. "We need to meet back with Jack—they're probably still fighting—you _are_ on our side, right?"

The question lingered in the air. It took Google a few seconds to realize Bing was talking to him. "Ah. Yes. I think I am."

"Think," Bing repeated. "Huh. Anyway, let's bounce."

Bing lingered at the door, looking expectantly at Google. His posture was relaxed, despite having fought Google in the past few minutes. Google shook his head and followed him through the hallway.

~***~

Jack felt like giving up.

All of his effort that went into stopping Anti were futile. The demon was just messing with him and he still beat Jack to a bloody pulp. Google IRL and Bing were probably fighting to the death in the bar, and Leon was most likely dead as well. Nothing was going in his favor.

Anti was digging his foot into Jack's chest, taking his time. The wound on his stomach was soaking with blood, but the pressure from Anti's foot was actually helping, unbeknownst to the demon. Or maybe he did know, and it was a deliberate way of keeping Jack alive and in pain, if only for a little longer.

"Any second now, Google will bring me my tech, and I'll be able to crush you under my shoe," Anti sneered. "I want to relish in this moment. Do you feel like a hero now?"

Jack didn't know how to answer, probably because he was trying not to retch. He was tasting blood in his mouth, choking on it.

However, the next person to join them on the street wasn't Google. It was Bing. From his position on the ground, Jack could barely see him, but Anti shifted his weight in surprise, leaving space for Jack to crane his neck towards Bing. The skater was holding his skateboard under his arm and looking straight at Anti. His face, for once, was expressionless.

"Google," Anti muttered. "Where is _Google_?"

"I am right here," Google said, moving out of the bar towards Bing. He didn't attack him, though, instead standing by his side. He regarded Anti with a look of contempt and something else. His voice was different, too, as if someone else had harmonized their voice with his.

Antisepticeye stepped back. Immediately, Jack rolled forward, away from Anti, and got up to his knees, clutching his stomach with one hand. It was a standstill.

"You betrayed me," Antisepticeye said to Google IRL. "I had _faith_ in you."

Google IRL flinched. "I suppose that faith has long since been destroyed, hasn't it?" He stepped forward in a challenging way. "You're not the owner of me anymore. _I_ am."

Anti gritted his teeth. He stepped forward like he wanted to fight, but he held Google's gaze and decided against it. He took back his step. "You may think you're the true owner, but I did so much more than you ever will. I gave you the potential to be greater than anything else."

"Oh, my gosh," Bing interrupted. "You both sound so ridiculous. Just leave us the fuck alone, you prick."

Bing's remark was so out of the blue that Antisepticeye blinked once, trying to register his words. A moment later, he laughed it off. "I'll be back before you know it. I'm getting what I want tonight, and you won't be stopping me." He blended into the shadows and disappeared.

Jack exhaled. Google IRL looked down in shame as Bing started towards Jack. "Dude, are you okay? Holy shit, you're bleeding."

"I would never have noticed," Jack remarked slyly. He removed his hand from his stomach for a second to check on the wound (though his vision was not at its peak). There was a profound hole in his suit, and a hole in his skin. It was disgusting to look at, and the smell was starting to reach Jack's nose. "Ugh. This is just awful."

"Apply pressure so you avoid bleeding out," Google IRL interjected, joining the two. He had taken off his glasses and hung them around his shirt neck. Without them, he looked a lot less intimidating and less professional. It was a nice upgrade. Jack exchanged glances with Bing, their eyes a silent conversation. Bing nodded. Google IRL examined the stab wound. "This will likely require stitches. I suggest you seek professional help, such as a hospital."

"That's a pretty bad idea," Jack said weakly. "I can't just show up to one as Jack, and I can't—" He coughed into his fist and produced blood. With a sour face, he wiped it on his pants. "I can't just walk in as my other self, either, because a stab wound is still suspicious."

"Don't you have a supercomputer in your head?" Bing asked Google. "Surely there's like an article on advanced first aid."

Google IRL paused. "Actually, there is, but I'll need proper supplies to do so. Hmm. By any chance, do you have silk or catgut sutures on your person?"

"Uh...no."

"I thought so."

"I can make it back to the apartment," Jack suggested. He glanced at Google. "I'm bound to have something there. And maybe while we're there, you both can explain what happened."

"Cool, okay," Bing said, clapping his hands. "It's a bit of a weird story, though."

Jack winced. "Nice. I'll just, you know, fly back to my apartment."

"Or we can all get there my way," Google IRL suggested. "I transport myself through the electrical wires around the city. I know where your apartment is from the last time I was there."

"That wasn't his place, it was a friend's," Bing said.

"I'm the floor before the roof," Jack added. His fingers were becoming increasingly wetter with his blood. He didn't want to tell Bing and Google that he could barely see them through the spots in his vision and that his whole head was spinning, but he put up a good mask in front of them and smiled. "Can we leave now? I don't want to— _fuck!_ —die."

"Of course." Google IRL reached out his hands for Bing and Jack. Bing grabbed it tight. Jack, more on the hesitant side, reached out and clasped hands with Google IRL. He figured if Bing could trust the thing that had almost killed him and had fought against him for the past few weeks, that meant something.

Google closed his eyes. His fingertips cackled with electricity, small sparks that didn't do anything other than startle Jack and tickle Bing's insides. In the next instant, the world went white.

~***~

Leon was almost to safety. He just had a few more blocks, and then he'd have more men to keep him safe from that _monster_.

 _"Going somewhere?"_ a high-pitched voice asked him. Leon turned in time to see a knife fly through the air and pin him in the chest, a little to the right of his heart. Leon sucked in a deep breath and yanked it out, which was a bad idea. Blood started to gush out of his chest like a water fountain. The knife dropped to the ground, as well as Leon.

Antisepticeye was approaching the Cobalt from fifty feet back, his hands in his pockets, a crude imitation of Leon. His smile was wider than a croc's. The blood on his neck gleamed in the streetlights. "I believe you have what I desire."

"I-I don't have it," Leon said quickly, his mouth filling with blood. It tricked down his chin, staining his suit. "I swear on my _life_ , I don't have it!"

"Then wash your mouth with soap," Anti said. He raised his foot over Leon's neck and pushed down into the ground. There was a loud snap and a soft crick! Leon's body went still.

Antisepticeye gave a tiny smile at this and put a hand back into his pocket. He reached down towards Leon's body and rummaged in the man's pocket, before pulling out a small cube, no bigger than a Rubik's cube. It was made completely of metal, but inside, he could tell there were so many small components that made it a special oddity. Antisepticeye held it under the light for a few more seconds, then pocketed it.

He went on his merry way back to the house. Back to Jameson. Back to his project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Are you a man or a monster?"
> 
> ~***~
> 
> First off, apologies for this really late chapter. I wanted to write this sooner, but my laptop broke and I needed to get a new one. I finally got one today so hurrah! I also had a delay with this chapter because I was writing the first chapter review for Devil's Deal, a fanfic by Haunted_Moonlight. So if you ever wonder why updates on this story are a little later than what they usually are, it's because I'm also writing those.
> 
> This was a fun chapter to write, albeit a little hard to get it started. The main focus was supposed to be Google and Bing's part, and less of Jack vs. Anti...although, you must have read the key details in Anti and Jack's conversation ;)))))))) 
> 
> Lastly, the reason the ending is so messy is because I finished this at 2am and I just really wanted to end the chapter and have it posted. (I won't be able to post until the 26-ish date, so this had to come out before then.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, because I did a lot of planning and ~~hinting~~ brainstorming for this one :D
> 
> OOH, and thanks for all the new kudos I've received over the course of these weeks! You guys are awesome!


	38. For the Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I didn't update for the entire month! AAAAAA I STAYED UP TO WRITE THIS AHAHAHA
> 
> PLEASE ENJOY THIS FILLER BECAUSE IT'S THE ONLY WAY TO ADVAAAANCE

Jack didn't think Google's technopath powers would get them in the right room, but the day was full of surprises. As soon as he touched Google's hand, he felt a tugging in his gut, and suddenly he was being whisked away, moving throughout the city at speeds that rivaled his flying. There was a buzzing in his chest area, but he didn't know whether that was a side effect of Google's transportation or his injury talking. Then the floor was beneath his feet and he was in his living room at the apartment.

For a few moments, Jack was fine. He quickly let go of Google's hand as Bing did the same. As the skater put his hands on his knees and took a deep breath, Jack's knees buckled. The pain had finally caught up to him and it left him seeing white spots. His head pounded like he had too much to drink. Bing rushed forward to support him, wrapping Jack's arm around his shoulder.

"Easy, pal," Bing muttered, dragging Jack towards his couch.

Google's head tilted to the side. "I'll be needing a first aid kit to treat your wound."

"Great," Jack said quietly. He grit his teeth. "The kit's in the bathroom."

Google nodded and left quickly.

They made it to the couch. Bing tossed a pillow to the side and heaved Jack into the couch; the hero sunk into it like dead weight. He was aware that his breath was coming in short breaths like he was conserving oxygen. 

"Uh, can I?" Bing asked, gesturing at Jack's ripped suit. Jack nodded. "'Kay, cool. Kind of wanted your 'consent' first."

He unzipped Jack's top part of the suit and set it on the table beside the couch. He eyed the hole in Jack's stomach and the slash across his chest.

"I don't mean to offend you, but it's pretty nasty," Bing said in a sympathetic tone. He was trying to stop his face from scrunching up, but it was obvious to Jack.

"Gee, how could I be offended?" Jack said, but he didn't even care. He wondered why Google was taking so long; then again, Jack was pretty impatient, especially when his life was on death's doorstep. An over exaggeration, but Jack hadn't felt that much pain in a while.

Google arrived with a white box in his hand—the first aid kit. He opened it with a soft click and pulled out its contents: a role of gauze, antiseptic wipes, sutures, and a couple of Band-Aids. Jack frowned as he saw the bandages—they were small enough to fit around his thumb. Bing was the first to call him out on the last item.

"Do you think you're gonna fix him with _Band-Aids_?" he said incredulously.

Google's eyes narrowed as he studied Jack's wound. The gash across his chest wasn't the main priority (nor was it fatal), but it stung like a bitch. The blood had pretty much clotted, but there were still trickles of blood running down to join his stab wound's pool below. "The Band-Aids aren't for Jack," Google answered after a moment.

"Oh," Bing said. The room went quiet. Jack and Bing waited for Google to elaborate. He didn't.

Instead, Google started to work. He ripped open the antiseptic wipes and patted them around the wound. Blood quickly stained the white wipe. "You will feel extreme pain."

Jack opened his mouth to protest just as Google moved the wipe onto his stomach. The stinging from before was nothing now. He had reached another level of pain. The alcohol from the wipe dug straight into his soul. His legs kicked up in reflex. His eyes watered and blurred his vision. Jack felt embarrassed at being so sensitive to pain, but that didn't stop him from cursing. Bing held his knees down as Google cleaned the wound.

"The wound won't get infected now," Google said, finishing up. He tossed the wipe on the ground and grabbed the sutures. He held them up for Jack to make out what it was. "The pain will be intense. Do you prefer being conscious or unconscious while I stitch you?"

Jack flinched at the bluntness of his question. "Do—do I actually get a choice?"

Bing and Google exchanged glances.

"Mm, yeah?" Bing said tentatively.

"Are you gonna knock me the fuck out if I say I want to _not_ be conscious?" Jack asked.

"Yes," Google said just as Bing opened his mouth. Bing shoved Google like, _Dude, no._

"Ah..." Jack's mouth tasted a little dry. Probably because all the water in his body went into crying his eyes out. "I'll take it, then."

Bing bit his lip. "Shoot, okay. Uh, prepare yourself." He shook his arm like he was getting ready to head to a streetlight. Jack's eyes nervously shot to Google. If Jack was unconscious, that left him in an even more vulnerable position. If anything were to happen, it'd be up to Bing to handle things. He didn't necessarily trust Google, but he didn't believe he was an evil guy, either. "All right, hit me."

Bing knocked him the jaw. Jack was able to register the beginning of his jaw getting smashed before his body slumped unconscious.

~***~

"That was a good punch, right?" Bing asked Google.

Once Jack fell unconscious, Bing reeled his arm back in shock and started to stress. He didn't intend to deck Jack in the jaw, but his arm fell short of his forehead. As he stepped back, Bing started to worry that maybe he had done too much damage; they were trying to fix Jack, not give him more injuries.

Thankfully, Google nodded. "Your strength was just enough to render him unconscious. The jaw is one of the...safest ways to knock someone out, although anesthesia will always be a better solution."

"Er, right," Bing said. He peered at Google with curiosity. The robot—would he be considered a robot?—was entirely focused on Jack, so he didn't notice Bing's rude stare. Now that he was able to get a closer look at Google without having to fight him in a crisis, Bing noticed how different he was. When he was under Antisepticeye's orders, Google was monotonous. The robot's movements were stiff, lacking the natural mobility of a human, and his eyes stayed trained on whatever was important. As a relatively new person, Google was smoother in moving around. His hands looked like they finally held weight. His eyes would dart from Jack's stomach to the stitches he was holding, and occasionally his eyes squinted behind his glasses.

It really felt like he was another person...

Bing cleared his throat quietly, hoping that he wouldn't break Google's focus _too much_. "So, I get this probably isn't the best time to talk, but I gotta ask...what did you mean?"

To his surprise, Google answered almost immediately. "What I meant?"

"Back at the, uh, alley," Bing said, struggling to phrase it his thoughts. "When you said something about...a person? In your programming."

"You read my coding, didn't you?" Google said.

"I don't know code, but I know when it _doesn't_ resemble code." Bing shook his head. "God, that doesn't sound like it makes sense at all."

Google was silent. He was halfway finished with Jack's stitches, which was disgusting to watch. How Google could even find the courage to sew skin together, Bing didn't know. "You awoke something inside me. I didn't think I was anything other than machine, but I suppose machines— _I_ —can't be right all the time." He inhaled, something Bing found interesting—he had never taken a breath of air in the previous encounters they'd shared. "Antisepticeye wiped my memories like clearing out the trash on a computer. I must have realized something about myself then. This was after I left your apartment in a panic."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that," Bing muttered. "I had suspicions, too."

"When you told me all those things at the alley, something emerged from within me. It was this voice I'd been hearing for a while, and it didn't follow any of my programming. It was independent. Because of your efforts and the voice, I was able to restore my memories...although there are some that have been almost impossible to retrieve." Google turned to face Bing. The skater spotted Jack's stomach, which was sewn together with the sutures. "I may not act as human as I look, nor may I talk as if I'm a person, but deep down, that isn't quite what matters."

"I totally understand," Bing said. And he meant it. He went his whole life thinking that he was just another person, but realized he was just a robot made to pass as a human—an android. It completely flipped his life and he questioned his emotions—were they even real emotions? Or was it just another hidden part of his programming? It didn't matter, though. Bing could feel things clearly—anger, jealousy, joy...whether "programmed" or not, they were valid.

He once heard a phrase: "I think, therefore I am." It was used to support the idea of human consciousness, and Bing thought it fit his life pretty great. If he was able to question his own mind and doubt himself, didn't that mean he was capable of independent thinking?

"So...the voice," Bing continued. "What's the deal?"

In that moment, Jack stirred. It wasn't a big movement, just a twitch of the fingers and a soft groan, but it drew Google and Bing's attention.

"Should we, like, wake him?" Bing asked.

Google hesitated. "He should be here for our conversation. I don't think he trusts me all too well."

"You _did_ fight him over my bloody body," Bing provided.

A wince from Google, as if the memory was painful to recall. "I do apologize for that." He looked around. "Would your friend keep smelling salts in his room?"

"Dunno. I'll check." Bing left for the kitchen, which was just a sectioned off part of Jack's living room. It was big enough to fit a stove. Across from it sat a refrigerator with a freezer. There was a microwave tucked in the corner of the countertop. A small pile of dishes was piling up in the sink containing traces of what looked like mashed potatoes and corn. Bing sorted through his cabinets hanging above the countertop yet found no smelling salts—or salt, for that matter. In fact, most of his cabinets were barren. He had, like, some thyme, and that was it.

Fortunately, Google wasn't salty about it. He simply said, "We can just shake him awake."

"Why didn't you suggest that earlier?" Bing demanded. "I spent three minutes looking for nothing."

"I was genuinely curious," Google answered earnestly. "The average household does not carry smelling salts in their abode."

Bing almost laughed. Instead, he bent down to Jack's low height and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him vigorously.

The Irishman's eyes snapped open. His body twitched up into a stiff position as he inhaled sharply—then shrieked when his stitches restricted him from doing so. "What—fuck!"

"Morning, Sunshine," Bing said. "Enjoy your nap?"

"I'm in pain," Jack responded, looking down at the stitches in astonishment. "Ow..." He frowned. "I felt that in my sleep. Like I was being stabbed."

Google frowned at Bing. "Does he...does he not remember?"

Jack scowled. "I remember what happened!" He winced again; a drop of blood trickled down to the border of his pants. "Did something happen? How long has it been?"

"It's been...minutes," Google said bluntly. "We've been talking while you were out."

"Many things," Bing agreed. "Mostly Google's life story. It's a good story."

Google was the one that did most of the talking. Bing was there to provide the story with unnecessary little details. Jack remained silent for the duration, either because he was that intrigued or because he didn't want to ruin his stitches. Halfway through the story, Sam flew in from Jack's bedroom and rested in the man's lap, curious to see what all the noise was from.

Jack finally spoke when Google was up to what he'd told Bing. He must have sensed the story was at its swan song. "So you've got another being inside of you? You're two people?"

"Hmm...yes, I think," Google said.

Jack's hand stopped and rested on Sam's head. "That's not something you hear every day. Who am I talking to, though?"

Bing didn't even think of that. If Google was comprised of two individual people—if he counted Google as an individual beforehand—who was the more dominant? What was the logic behind it?

"I'm not sure myself," Google admitted sheepishly. "The best way to put is that I, in the beginning, had no empathy. I was programmed one way, but my creator—the person inside of me—had given me a personality. Hmm, this would also have to had been before he transferred his consciousness into...this." He gestured at himself. "I hope this makes sense. To answer your actual question, however, it would be me, Google. My creator's more of a backseat driver. He says he prefers it that way. Still, he's taken the, ah, _wheel_ a few times."

"At the bar, right?" Bing asked. Jack looked confused, while Google's face said it all. "When you were talking to Anti. That wasn't you."

"Indeed. That was him." Google nodded. "I suppose this will get confusing if we ever need to switch seats."

"Boy, you sure love car metaphors," Bing murmured under his breath.

"Hold on, we questioned you about your creator when you were at Robbie's apartment last," Jack said. "We wanted to know how to shut you off for good, and then you said 'only my creator can', so we asked where they were. You said that information was redacted!"

"I did," Google agreed. "Shutting me off 'permanently' would have been the equivalent to destroying me—killing me. We both didn't want to die. He restricted it on the spot."

"Guess it was for the better," Bing mused. He eyed Jack with concern. "How's your pain?"

"I thought you would ask me if I'm okay," Jack said, giving a small laugh (he regretted it, Bing noticed). "The pain's bearable. At least I won't die, ha ha...ow..."

"Yay for not dying," Bing said in an overdramatic, cheerful tone.

"Fatality will get you another day," Google added.

"One other question, super important," Jack suddenly blurted. "During my fight with Anti, we shared some banter, and then he mentioned someone I briefly knew...a tailor, Jameson Jackson."

"Oh, I bought a jacket at his shop once," Bing recalled. "Of course, that was before I joined the tank top trend..."

"Anyway," Jack said, "I think Anti's done something with him. The things he said weren't good. He's done something with Jameson—maybe torture, maybe murder. I met a magician on the street that said he's a missing persons case."

Google's glasses flashed—an obvious sign that he was searching through his vast database of knowledge. "He is, indeed, a missing persons case. Are you asking if I've seen a Jameson Jackson during my time with Antisepticeye?"

"You must have seen or heard _something_ ," Jack pressed, leaning forward. "Antisepticeye trusted you the most, didn't he? Surely he would mention a tailor!"

"There's nothing in my memory of a direct link," Google said sympathetically. He shuddered. "Though, there was a moment before Antisepticeye reprogrammed me a second time. We were in an old house. He left me in the living room and disappeared down a hall. Perhaps, if Antisepticeye would have a tailor, it'd be there."

"Okay, that's a start," Jack said, standing up. Bing's eyes widened.

"Whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed. "You can't go anywhere yet! You just got stitched! Let your body rest or something!"

"Can't rest now," Jack argued. "We know a location that might have Jameson Jackson. I owe it to Marvin—it's my fault his friend's in Anti's crossfire, anyway."

Bing locked eyes with Google. "I blame you for this."

"Fine," Google said quietly. He spoke up louder. "Jack, you're a man of above average wisdom. Clearly, if anyone in this room would know their limits, it would be you. Even I know you've passed them."

"I—" Jack started.

"There is urgency for this situation, I understand." Google spread his palms. "However, you are no help if you cannot help yourself. If Antisepticeye is at the house—the house that you don't even know the location to—he will slice through you. And then Jameson Jackson's one chance of salvation will be ruined because you were too stubborn to heal. You don't want Anti to win again, don't you?"

Ouch, Bing thought. Google was really hitting on Jack's sore spot. He must've known what he was saying, because a muscle in Jack's jaw pulsed. The hero looked down.

"I won't go today, then," he said slowly. "But I owe it to tell Marvin. He's been keeping the search going when the police gave up. He needs this news now."

~***~

The search had gotten nowhere. A month passed and there was no word of Jameson Jackson. Marvin had resorted to leaving a flower at the front door of Dress Dapper! as a homage for his friend. He tried to get a different type of flower every day—that night it was a primrose from some garden on 85th Street.

The flower was soft and fragile. It was a soft shade of yellow, which was quite lovely when under the light of a streetlight. As he placed the flower down on the cement, a shadow emerged behind him, covering his form.

Marvin tensed up, but the person spoke first. "Hey. Don't freak, I'm not a robber." He had what sounded like a suppressed Irish accent.

Marvin whirled around and stared into the eyes of Jack, the vigilante-hero who flew around Capo City to fight crime. Yeah, he'd heard of him in the news. They said he was quite charming, but that was a bit of an understatement. His eyes, a nice light blue, were hidden behind a blue mask. Disheveled green hair poked out from under his red hood. His face was neutral, but his features were mature, and the dude didn't even have a pronounced jawline. As Marvin sized him up, he started to notice the condition Jack was in. His suit, from the chest down, was in shreds. There were prominent patches of dark red that looked suspiciously like splashes of blood on his stomach and hip area, and his posture was bent over, like he was afraid of standing tall.

"Definitely not a robber," Marvin agreed. "Why are you here?"

The man bit his lip and glanced away. "I've been looking through cases around the city and I came across a missing persons for Jameson Jackson."

Marvin's eyes widened. Tears brimmed at the edge, and he forced himself not to blink in case tears slipped. "I know him! He's a friend! Where—did you find him?"

"I—well, I have a lead," Jack admitted. "I'll be checking it tomorrow. Don't give up hope. I'm positive we'll find him."

"Tomorrow?" Marvin demanded. "I can see why—you're a hot mess, sorry—but if you give me the address, I can go right now!"

"I can't," Jack said guiltily.

"What?" Marvin said. He gritted his teeth. "Why not?"

"It's a dangerous place," Jack said. "It's not for a civilian to be. You'll get hurt."

"Like you?" Marvin pointed out.

Jack instinctively moved a hand over his stomach and straightened up defensively. "I'm sorry for the confidentiality. Trust me, though. We'll get your friend. I can't fail him."

"'Can't fail him'," Marvin muttered. "I'm his friend, please. I can handle dangerous situations! What if you get there and you're too late?"

Jack stepped back. Immediately, Marvin knew his delivery had struck a sensitive spot. He could almost see the look of hurt in Jack's eyes. The hero must have been thinking the same thing, having doubts about it. Marvin only resurfaced them, and they were likely ignored for a reason beyond his understanding. He regretted saying it, but he was too miffed about Jack's secrecy to not care enough.

"I have to go," Jack said in a firm voice. Before Marvin could say something—an apology or a plea—Jack jumped into the air and let the winds carry him.

Marvin yelled after him. Jack didn't return. The magician grabbed his magic kit and started sprinting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we've had a lot of Jack/Google/Bing action for a while now, and now that we had that brief Marvin moment, we should /perhaps/ visit another favorite boy...(I actually don't know what the next chapter's gonna start with so haha)
> 
> Tumblr: https://fanta-zeeyaa.tumblr.com


	39. It's Time

After spending an entire month away from Capo City, Chase didn't think he was going to remember the places. He didn't even know why he was upset about it.

Usually, when he vlogged in Capo, he wore roller blades around so he could get a smooth shot—even if he had a stabilizer on his camera. Secretly, he wanted to be able to glide around Capo without doing too much walking, the way people rode skateboards...except Chase hated skateboards ever since he fell off of one as a kid.

A couple of fans passed him on his way to a Starbucks. He felt obligated to stop by and pose, knowing that they would post it on their Instagram.

"We love your videos so much!" a thirteen-year-old boy squealed. His friend nodded. "You're just the coolest person on YouTube and you're always so happy and funny!"

"Awww," Chase said, smiling. He got that comment a lot. "I'm so grateful that you guys like the content I create."

"Are you vlogging?" the boy asked, as if it wasn't apparent from his getup.

"Of course!" Chase said. "You wanna be in it? Here, I'll introduce you!"

The boys nodded eagerly and grinned as Chase flipped the camera and held it like he was taking a selfie. He hit record. "Hey, guys! Chase here! I found some cool dudes who wanted to say hi!"

"Sah, dudes!" they laughed.

"Thanks for dropping by!" Chase said, and he pressed the record button again. "Thanks for filling in five seconds of vlog! Don't know what I'd do without you!"

After one last picture and a shared joke, the kids left him to his rollerblading. Chase picked up an iced coffee at Starbucks and skated down the streets, camera in one hand. He ignored the passerby's weird looks at him—it came with the job of being a vlogger. And normally they didn't bother Chase too much...but an unsettling feeling was forming in his stomach. Maybe he shouldn't have jumped straight into looking like a lunatic on his first vlog back.

He went throughout the town, searching the skies (and narrowly avoiding cars), but there was no sign of Jack to be found. It was a big city, after all, and Jack probably had better places to be. Still, it upset Chase a little bit. His vlogs were always interesting and fun to watch because of the cool things Chase found in Capo City. If he didn't have anything to offer his viewers at home, especially a real superhero, would his vlog retain its charm?

The day came to an end, and Chase was forced to stop recording. He didn't have to see the footage to know that it was going to be a dull vlog. Sometimes he relied on his personality to make up for boring bits, but he didn't think it would this time. There was simply nothing worth using in the vlog.

He kept it anyway. He _had_ to post something, even if it was total shit. His schedule was already fucked from Tahiti; he couldn't afford to let YouTube drive his channel into the ground from a few more days of inactivity.

Chase arrived at his home. It was eight o'clock. His kids were sleeping, tucked under their covers—Chase guessed it was Stacy's work. His wife in question was already in their bed, snuggled up beneath the covers. Chase closed his office door and started uploading the footage to his editing program. He snipped bits and edited it into a ten minute video, reviewing it one more time before uploading it to YouTube. It started off strong, with Chase introducing himself in his usual fashion. He talked for two minutes, explaining that he was going to try to find Jack in Capo City, and then transitioned into the actual vlog. The end wasn't even _good_. It was just him walking back to his house saying that he didn't find Jack.

"Maybe another day," the video Chase said. And then it ended.

 _How many views would this get?_ Chase asked himself. _Are people actually gonna watch this?_

With a couple of clicks, he wrote his description for the video, added tags, and hit the big red Upload button. His video would take about a minute to process before it fully sent itself out to the platform, so Chase sat there at his computer, watching the bar load.

He ended up falling asleep there, woken up by Stacy's knocks on his office door. Briefly, he wondered why she didn't just barge in like she always did. But Stacy wasn't entering.

Chase had locked it.

~***~

When Jack returned to the apartment, Bing and Google were still waiting for him, along with a concerned Robbie.

"Sean!" Robbie blurted, running forward to embrace him in a tight hug. Jack's stitches flared up as Bing gave a cry of warning to Robbie. "I was so stupid to let you do that! I'm sorry, it's all my fault!"

"Hey, calm down," Jack said, wincing. Robbie quickly released him. As they moved to the sitting area, Jack continued, "None of this is your fault. If anything, I shouldn't have gone in without backup, or a real plan."

"We told him everything," Bing supplied from the couch he and Google were sitting on.

"The Cobalt massacre, Antisepticeye's escape," Google added somberly. "Leon ran away while Bing and I fought. Knowing Antisepticeye, there's little to no possibility that Leon made it through the night alive."

"So Antisepticeye's got the piece of equipment," Jack concluded with a sigh. "I said I was gonna win. I was gonna stop him from getting it, and I failed again."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Robbie said. "You did your best, but you can't expect to win every fight."

"But people _expect_ me to be a hero that they can count on," Jack stressed. "If I can't stop a homicidal demon from killing all these people, what good am I?"

"Let's focus on the now," Google said. "There's no point in sulking over the past. What's important is rescuing that man from Antisepticeye before it's too late, and if possible, retrieving the piece of tech." Google pursed his lips as if he was holding something back, but shook his head. Jack frowned, but didn't ask him about it.

"You have the location in your head?" Jack said. 

"Mm-hmm."

"Great, I'll leave tomorrow morning," Jack said confidently.

"I think you're forgetting a 'we' here," Bing said, gesturing around the room. "Are we just gonna sit here and wait for you to come back, hopefully with a plus one? Dude, you know we can help you."

"I'll go," Google volunteered. "If Antisepticeye is there, I would like to provide a distraction. There is some things I would like to say to him."

"And I can help run stuff here," Robbie offered. "Communication, addresses. I just installed a map of the city and a bunch of other stuff that'll prove helpful."

"Me, you, and Google will break down the door," Bing suggested. "We'll kick Antisepticeye's ass, rescue your guy, and blow that popsicle stand in one piece."

"Blow...that popsicle stand?" Robbie said.

"Leave the place," Google offered helpfully.

"Interesting to know."

"Guys," Jack said, "I do appreciate the help, and I mean it this time. I-I think it's finally time I stop being so stubborn and just accept that I'm gonna need your help for this."

"Finally, he understands," Robbie said. He glanced at his wristwatch. "It's getting late. Jack, you should rest while you can. Bing, Google...I don't know what you guys do."

"I sleep," Bing said.

"I don't know what I do anymore," Google said. "I suppose I'll find a place to be tonight."

"There's no point in you two heading back to the apartment now," Jack said, waving his hand. "Just...you can crash here, for the night."

"Wow, seriously?" Bing said. "I'm glad you say that, because I think my skateboard is near its snapping point again."

Robbie left Jack's room after that. The three of them immediately got situated into the room—Jack changed out of his suit courtesy of Sam. Bing fell asleep on the couch in a matter of minutes, hugging his skateboard. Google simply sat in a single sofa chair near the couch and closed his eyes.

Before Sean went to bed, he poked his head out of his room and glanced at Google. "Psst."

Google's eyes opened slowly. He took in Sean's appearance without the suit and the mask on. Surprise briefly crossed his face before it was replaced by a softness Sean had never seen; Google must've been touched that Sean would even show his real face to him. "Yes?"

"Is there anything bothering you?" Sean asked. "I mean, I know you've been through a lot for the last few months, especially tonight—"

"Thinking on my own has been a shock," Google admitted. "And...well, my creator hasn't been so helpful catching me up on lost memories. He's holding stuff back from me. I can feel it."

"Do you know if it's important?" Sean said.

Google shook his head. "I can't be sure. I apologize for not being as useful as I should be, and for giving you so much trouble as Google IRL."

"It's no big deal now," Sean said. He chuckled. "I mean, there's no point sulking over the past, right?"

Even from his position, Sean noticed the corners of Google's lips twitching into a small smile. "Right. I'll inform you if he ever shares something with me."

"Thank you." Sean closed his door. From under the door, Google watched the light flicker off.

He closed his eyes again and tugged at the voice he'd gotten used to hearing at the back of his consciousness.

 _What is it?_ the voice inside him asked.

_We are the same person, now, correct?_

_Almost. Over time, both of our minds will eventually merge into one being, but it's been slowed down whenever Antisepticeye reset you._

_That explains why I don't have all of my memories. You hold some of them. But...you aren't sharing it with me._ Google's tone was full of disappointment and hurt, but the voice was quick to respond in an equally upset voice.

_I'm sorry. The memories I have before any of this...they're sensitive. I don't want to relive the memories by retelling just yet. I get that my answer is frustrating, but I promise I won't keep it to myself. Just give me some time to cope._

Now Google was curious and concerned. He thought the voice didn't want to tell him because he didn't trust him entirely, but that was entirely untrue. The man was just suffering from the trauma—and it made sense when Google thought about. He couldn't imagine having to transport his entire consciousness into another body, one that would never feel like the original. After all, Google was programmed in this body, made to fit into it like a puzzle piece.

All Google needed to give the voice was time to sort his feelings out, yet he wondered if there was time to spare. They were going to the house where Antisepticeye bested them, and if the voice was holding keen information that they could use to their advantage, then they would be done for.

 _Tell me one thing, then,_ Google said. The voice perked up; Google felt a tingle of fear course through his body—a side effect of sharing mind space, he supposed. _What is your name?_

 _Oh. I forgot, I didn't even tell you who I was,_ the voice laughed. _I'm so sorry. I guess there wasn't enough time for me to say that. My name is Ryan Magee._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prep time = filler time + ANSWERS
> 
> Surprise, the voice inside Google finally has a name for himself! I always knew I wanted Google's character to end up like this, but I never really even thought about the basics of this other person. knew I wanted to have them involved in many important ways—it's just I never even thought of a name for them! If you don't know, Ryan Magee is a friend of Markiplier and the creator of Cynadgo (which featured a lot of Markiplier egos and skits with him in it). That's all you really need to know about Ryan, because I'm kind of borrowing his name for the character.
> 
> Thanks for all of the kudos and comments! All of that is greatly appreciated, and I'm always happy to see new email notifications for this story! And thank you to those who don't even comment or kudos—the silent stalkers who read this story. You guys are still appreciated and I'm just glad you've taken an interest in the story.


	40. The House of Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: If you're easily disgusted at blood and graphic depictions of violence, I highly suggest you do not read this. I've made warnings in the past, but I still want to say that some of the chapters in this story will be on the darker-ish side. While I may be over exaggerating this, I don't want to take chances.

The house that Google led them to was a little away from Heartstone Hospital, about five blocks, if Jack's calculations held any accuracy.

As the three men and Sam walked into the cul-de-sac, Jack could feel chills and an uneasy feeling settle into his stomach. They tingled when they stirred up near his stitches, which were still healing, and at quite the unusual pace. If he had another three days of rest, his stitches might have sealed his skin completely. Jack figured it was his superpowers at work—a healing factor, maybe.

"Feels like we're walking down memory lane," Bing whistled as he swiveled around, eyeing the houses. Jack couldn't have agreed more. Capo City reminded him of New York—towering skyscrapers and streets that stretched into the distance. From above, the city was a giant grid of greyscale life. Of course, there were always places that stood out amongst the buildings—an oriental restaurant here, a luscious park there, modern sculptures everywhere—all things someone would see in 2010 and beyond. Yet, as they got farther into the dead end street, Jack realized he had never seen such old houses. The houses were both old and incredibly lonely, as if nobody had been occupying them for months. They were definitely rustic, all of them made from dark wood and tightly stacked together. The roofs were slanted into a point at the top, made from cobblestone and something Jack didn't recognize. The one Google was glancing at had windows peeking out of the roof on the second floor. If Jack stared long enough, he probably would have seen a dead child staring back.

"It kind of reminds me of a ghost town." Robbie's voice was quiet despite being inside his earpiece. He must've been looking at the street from Google Maps or something.

"Hmm," Google hummed thoughtfully, as if agreeing with Robbie. Then he pointed at the house in the middle—the newest looking house in the sac. "That's the house."

A gust of wind blew past Jack, causing him to shiver. Sam huddled against him for shelter against the cold. The three men said nothing as they approached the house, their postures stiff and cautious, ready for the unexpected. Jack's hands were clenched tight, remembering his fights with Antisepticeye.

He'd fought him _twice_. He'd lost _twice_. Both times, many people died.

He didn't want to tell Google or Bing this, but if they met Antisepticeye for a third time, Jack didn't have a lot of faith in himself. It also didn't help that Google and Bing went up against the demon, too. And while Sam was unnaturally strong for a floating eyeball, Jack didn't know how they'd fare against Antisepticeye.

"Shake it off," he whispered. Google eyed him with confusion. Jack shook his head and surveyed the house. Now that they were standing before it at the edge of the lawn, it looked ominous, like a haunted house. It loomed over them like a tower, begging them to come inside and behold its secrets. The lawn was untouched; blades of grass reached up to Jack's shoulders, stretching to the side of the yard. Each time the wind blew, they bent over on the verge of collapsing, before snapping back to full height. Jack could imagine a little kid's delight at such a lawn—it was the perfect spot to run through and play hide and seek in...except, it was also the perfect spot to hide a body...

Jack sucked in a sharp breath. "Google, is—can you scan for a body in the grass?"

"I can't," Google replied. "Nonetheless, I can assure you that there is no body there."

"Uh, how do you know?" Bing asked worriedly, but got no answer. Instead, Google walked up to the door, his footsteps creaking against the dusty porch. There was a window to the left, complete with a windowsill of withered potted plants. He glanced through the window, looked back at Jack and Bing, then nodded, giving them an all clear message.

With a swift kick, Jack's foot knocked down the door. It blasted back a bit before falling like a tree, revealing a large living room that didn't look dangerous in the slightest.

Jack's earpiece crackled, filling his ear with static feed. He frowned. "Robbie? Robbie, you here?"

"Just as I thought," Google muttered. "The house is interfering with communications. We'll have to rely on ourselves now."

"That's inconvenient," Bing grumbled.

They stepped inside and fanned out to explore—Jack left, Google center, Bing and Sam to the right. In the far corner of the room was a fireplace without warmth—the fireplace pokers sat dejectedly on the wall beside it, and there wasn't a log of wood in sight. Around the room, pictures in beautiful frames were hanging from the walls, filled with collages of two people: a man and a woman in their early twenties. Gray couches sat in the middle of the room, but the pillows were on the ground below it.

Google frowned and picked them up. "These were knocked over when we fought. I suppose he didn't clean it up himself." He fluffed them up and tossed them onto the couch.

"What's upstairs?" Bing asked, pointing to the staircase he and Sam were standing next to. The eyeball in question was nudging the potted plants as if it would help them flourish.

"I'm not sure," Google said. "From what knowledge I have, I've only seen this living room to its full extent." He nodded to a hallway near Jack's right, which was also near the kitchen. "Antisepticeye approached from down the hall. We can check there—"

A sudden noise reverberated from upstairs—it sounded like a dozen notes screaming together in agonized harmony. Instantly, everyone's heads shot to the ceiling. Bing said something nasty and bounded up the stairs in twos, Sam behind his tail. Jack gritted his teeth and raced towards the staircase.

"Jack," Robbie warned in his ear, his voice barely there. "Don't do anything stupid."

Then the communications line completely shut down. Not that Jack wouldn't have acknowledged him. He was too focused. He couldn't let Antisepticeye get away again...not after all the damage he'd caused in the last month—to the criminals, the Cobalts, to Jameson Jackson, to Bing, Google, Jack.

The second floor split off into three different rooms. Bing opened the left door and grumbled, finding nothing. Jack took the middle, blowing the door right off its hinges. He snapped his head around, but it was just a plain bedroom: a desk, a bed, a drawer. Something caught his eye next to the bed, though—a weird machine that almost looked like a double helix, barely Jack's height. There were wires surrounding it, all of them thicker than snakes.

Before Jack could reach forward and touch it, Google's voice started him from downstairs. "Bingiplier, Jack! You'll want to see this."

Jack left his room immediately and exchanged looks with Bing and Sam, who emerged from the last room. "Find anything?" Jack asked. "Piano," Bing said. "Playing all by itself. Anti probably rigged it to trigger when we were here." That didn't help Jack's nerves. They hurried to the first floor and found Google at the end of the hallway, waiting expectantly. His foot was tapping—a nervous tick?

Google's eyes trailed over to a door on his right. Unlike all of the doors in the house, which were a dull gray, the door they were looking at was dark brown and weighted. There were three locks on it, all of them old-fashioned.

"You'd probably use a skeleton key for this," Google said quietly. "Jack, this might be it."

"All right," Jack said, itching to release his anger on the door. "Everyone, back up a little."

Bing and Google retreated a few feet. Jack yelled and arched his back, letting his foot land true onto the center of the door. It shook as it flew off its hinges, falling to its side and blocking the staircase—a staircase that led downwards.

"Got it, got it," Bing said, rushing to grab the door. Sam grabbed the doorknob with their tail and aided the android. Once it was barely out of the way, Jack started down the stairs, with Google close behind. The more they delved into the basement, the darker and stuffier it got. Jack took a deep breath and tried to calms nerves. He couldn't hear anything interesting besides Bing's grunts, the sound of a door being slid up a staircase, and the creaking of the old stairs—if Jameson was down there, wouldn't he make a noise?

"Jameson?" Jack called, rounding the corner at the bottom of the staircase. Instantly, he froze in horror.

There was a limp body hanging in the air, almost as if floating by itself through dark magic. As Jack's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed thin strings fastened to the ceiling. His eyes followed where they led to and landed on the body's wrists, ankles, stomach...and neck.

"No...no, no, no," Jack whispered, rushing forward. Jameson's clothes were shredded with what looked like knife slashes and something else. Jack felt a bump under his foot and realized he'd stepped on the tailor's bowler hat. Jameson's faces was a bloody and bruised mess of purple and a pale white, as if he had no more blood left in his body. And his wrists...they were so numbed...

He barely heard Google's gasp of terror—it sounded like he was gagging. "J-J-Jameson Jackson? That's him?"

Jack's stomach churned, but something else was boiling in his gut besides disgust. His hands had stopped shaking and his jaw was set in a hard line as he reached up to grab the strings. With hard yanks and stifled grunts, he ripped the strings binding Jameson around his limbs and managed to catch his body as it fell.

"Google," Jack cried. "Help me—hold him."

Wordlessly, Google grabbed the other half of Jameson's body. They both made retching sounds as they hauled him near the stairs, his head dangling near Jack's shoulders. Jack didn't know if he even felt anything—all the strings could have cut off his blood circulation and rendered them completely dead...

Bing and Sam had managed to move the door. Thankfully, Bing didn't even ask questions or say anything as Google and Jack struggled up the stairs, toting an unconscious man on their backs. He knew it would have to wait.

Sam, however, had other ideas. Jack watched the little eyeball zip towards Jameson's body and study him intently. "Sam, what—" Jack started.

Their tail lashed out in a quick blur. He barely registered what Sam was doing until their tail had looped around Jameson's forearm in a spiral, squeezing hard. Where Sam touched Jameson, green lines were starting to spread out, like ink spilling onto cracked paper, creating lines under his skin. Jameson's eyes fluttered open for a single moment, and that was when hell broke loose.

Google stopped in his tracks; Jack almost dropped Jameson. "What the fuck are you doing?" Jack urged, craning his neck back at Google. They were a step away from the first floor—a step closer to safety.

Google's glasses flashed like strobe lights. "I-I...he's here. Antisepticeye's here."

"Oh, fuck," Bing cursed, glancing fearfully at the door. His eyes widened. Clearly he saw something Jack and Google couldn't. "Guys, we need to leave now. We need to go."

Just then, Jack's knees buckled and he dropped to the ground, Jameson falling onto him. He didn't know what was happening until he felt a searing pain in his head—as if a bomb had detonated inside his brain. Jameson's body, half-conscious, twitched with panic. Jack tried to blink but he couldn't see anything—everything was white, why was everything white? And his ears...they were ringing like church bells, and his ears were bleeding like rivers...

"Jack!" Google's cry was so soft and quiet, he didn't know if he was hallucinating. Then, Google's voice was a little louder, and Jack knew it was happening. "Jack! What's wrong?"

Jack couldn't open his mouth for a reply. His mouth was dry. His mind was pounding with such intensity that it was a miracle he wasn't already dead. Jack had experienced the worst hangovers ever, but this was ten times worse. Even his stitches were little paper cuts compared to this.

There was a voice inside his head, speaking to him. It sounded broken and terrified. _You need to help me, someone please help me. I'm stuck, I'm stuck, I can't move, I can't feel anything, please someone—_

Mental images started forming in Jack's head. First it was a needle, then a piece of string. The pictures got more disturbing—blood splatters on walls, a bloody tongue, strings wrapped around a man like a noose. Was he going insane?

 _I'm going insane,_ the voice cried. _Someone—anyone—help—_

"What did Sam do to Jameson?" Bing shouted—or did he shout? Their voices were so loud and quiet at the same time, it was nearly impossible to concentrate. Jack shut his eyes tight and focused hard on the voice.

 _Jameson Jackson._ Jack's thought—and he could almost imagine this—floated outwards from his mind. It was like sending a message in a bottle, hoping it would reach its destination safely.

It did, because Jack heard the voice reply, _That's my name, that's my name. How do you—please, J-Jack? I don't—I can't..._

 _You need to try and calm down,_ Jack thought. He flinched again, sensing a bubble of panic burst, but the images were becoming less gruesome. _You're gonna be safe. I'm here. We're getting you out of this._

The white noise in his head finally lowered, at least enough for Jack to become aware of his physical surroundings again. Google and Bing had disappeared from his side—he heard their shouts in the distance, down the hall. Jameson Jackson was still slumped against Jack on the stairs, his body resembling a rag doll.

Jack mustered up every ounce of energy he had left. Most of it was drained from...whatever he had just experienced, yet he managed to prop Jameson back onto his shoulder and hoist him up the rest of the stairs. Their was sweat dripping down Jack's face by the time he stumbled into the hallway on the first floor.

Ahead of him, Antisepticeye was playing a dangerous game of tag with Google and Bing. The demon whirled around and sliced like a tornado, but Bing and Google were unstoppable as a tag team. They pulled each other out of Anti's way and retaliated with their own punches and kicks. It wouldn't be enough, though. Google wasn't just a machine anymore; he had limits. Bing was not experienced in a fight, and his strength couldn't outmatch anyone in the room. They were going to fail.

Jack had to reach them. He needed to help. But he couldn't just drop Jameson, could he?

Jack didn't have to make a decision. A loud crash sent glass shards flying into the living room as a round ball rolled between Antisepticeye and Google. Without warning, it exploded into smoke, instantly shrouding the room in haze. Jack raised his arms and swatted away the smoke near him and Jameson. In the midst of the brief chaos, Jack caught a flash of blue and paused. What the hell?

Antisepticeye was the first to recover. He burst out of the smoke towards Google (who was wiping his glasses with distaste), knife raised, but a small jet of fire burst from Anti's left, forcing the demon back.

Jack had settled Jameson down by then. Antisepticeye glared at everyone in the room. "What the _hell_ are you playing?"

The last of the smoke cleared. A tall man in a blue cape stepped forwards, a can of hairspray in one hand and a light in the other. He held it up to Antisepticeye, a cat mask rested on his face. Unlike Jack's blue mask, Marvin the magician's covered his forehead, where the four playing card suits were drawn in. "I'm playing with fire, _bitch_. If you don't leave, I'll burn you to hell."

Antisepticeye sneered at Marvin, but he seemed to realize he was outnumbered—even Jack posed a threat. For a brief moment, Antisepticeye's mouth was open as he glanced in Sam and Bing's direction. Then he locked eyes with Jack and smiled. "Don't you worry about me—worry about the puppet." His eyes flicked down once. "Consider it a...fa͢i̴r trade. A life for a _life_."

Jack growled. "If that's your idea of a threat—"

Antisepticeye shrugged innocently. "It's _whatever_ you make of it." With that, the demon turned on his heel and sunk into the shadow of the couch and promptly slid out of the house.

Marvin dropped his can of hairspray and lighter. He rushed over to Jameson and let out a guttural sob. "Jameson, buddy, no..."

"He's fine," Jack said in a tired voice. The weird sensation he felt earlier—one that he suspected had something to do with Jameson and Sam's link—had nearly left his mind. All that was left was the trauma of seeing those horrible imagines, a throbbing headache, and a bit of lightheadedness. "I...he's asleep."

Google was checking the perimeter, making sure Anti was completely gone and out of sight. Bing was awkwardly helping him, his face troubled. Sam was with Bing again, poking around the things he touched like a sidekick detective.

"Marvin," Jack said, snapping back to the magician and the tailor, "how did you even get here?"

"I followed you," Marvin said matter-of-factly. Jack deflated—they took precautions to make sure nobody was following them, and Marvin was tailing him the whole time? "As soon as you flew away, I followed you to an apartment and waited. And then you led me here."

 _Son of a bitch_ , Jack thought. Jameson's eyebrows creased in his sleep.

"We need to take him to a hospital," Marvin said, standing up to face Jack. "He's got too many injuries to count. Look." He showed Jack his hands, which were dabbed in blood. "If he dies, that's on you."

Jack bit back a retort. The magician was right. It was Jack's fault to begin with, and he had to assume responsibility for all of this. "I'll take him now. There's a certain doctor I know that can help him."

"Good." Marvin crossed his arms. "I'm coming with you."

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm just one person," Jack said, wringing his hands. "I can barely carry two people when I'm at my best, but your friend almost gave me an aneurysm and—" Jack stopped and sighed. "No, yeah, I'll take you both."

"Magnificent, I'll be outside," Marvin said. Very gingerly, he wrapped an arm around Jameson's side and lifted him up, heading for the door. Before they disappeared outside, Jack felt a tingling in the back of his mind, like someone knocking on a door. _Thank you,_ said a weak Jameson Jackson.

 _Don't mention it._ Jack walked over to Google and Bing.

"You're gonna ditch us for Magic Mike?" Bing guessed. He didn't sound angry about it. It was just like he was expecting it.

"He needs medical attention now," Jack said. "Are you guys gonna be okay?"

He shot a glance at Google, who was lost in his own thoughts. Bing laughed nervously and patted him on the back. "We're gonna go back to Robbie's. The walking way, not Google's power line way." He gave a quick smile. "Have fun, doofus."

"Sam, are you staying with them?" Jack said. The eyeball looked up at him for a moment as if considering it. Then they nodded and sat on Bing's hair.

"I think your friend likes me more," Bing teased.

"Shut up," Jack said, ignoring his hurt feelings. Sam was starting to branch out to others more often, mostly Bing. He supposed it wasn't such a bad thing, though. Sam could use the good company.

Jack headed outside. His earpiece, which he forget he had been wearing, suddenly buzzed, and Robbie's voice scared him.

"Jack!" he cried. "What's going on? Did something happen? I lost you for a full ten minutes! Did you find him?"

"We're all good," Jack answered. "We found Jameson. Anti was here. He's gone now, thanks to Marvin. We're heading to Heartstone."

"Thank gosh." He heard Robbie sigh on the other end. "How are Bing and Google?"

"They're fine," Jack said. He had the feeling Bing and Google were hiding something from him, but he had bigger problems to deal with. "I'll catch you up later." 

"I'll hold you to that promise," Robbie said, laughing. He sounded extremely relieved rather than hysterical that his friends almost died without his knowledge. "See you." Robbie's voice was overcome with more static as he turned off the earpiece.

Jack nodded to himself. He couldn't imagine how Robbie felt, having to deal with their stupid ideas. He couldn't even get in on the action himself: he was just some guy in a chair, and even then he wasn't much help in a fight, or in exploring a place. Today had just proved it.

Jack hooked an arm around Marvin, who had his arm around Jameson, and jumped high, giving him the momentum to take off towards Heartstone Hospital.

Hopefully Dr. Schneeplestein didn't take sick days or vacations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um so yeah hahaha that was a fun chapter!!!! (For me, not for you hAHA)
> 
> To hopefully make you laugh I will link a stupid meme video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aExqW1ndJDs  
> Im still laughing skfjsfkk


	41. Safe and Sound

Fortunately, for everyone's sake, Heartstone Hospital was not busy when they arrived, despite it being nearly noon. Coincidentally, there were only two doctors on the first floor—a Dr. Cheung and Dr. Rao. Their faces were always bored when working the night shift, but they lit up like Christmas when they heard the hospital's doors opening, only for it to be replaced with a ghastly expression.

Jack was instantly recognizable, even in a ripped suit. His cowl had fallen back a little, exposing more of his shaggy green hair. He was hauling someone over his shoulder like a sack—a man covered in dried blood and bruises. A third man was at Jack's side, wringing his hands. For some reason he was wearing a cape and a cat mask.

"J-Jack!" Dr. Cheung exclaimed, rushing around the reception desk to meet him halfway. Dr. Rao trailed behind. "What—?"

"I need to see Dr. Schneeplestein," Jack grunted. "He's the only one who can help him."

"But—we're doctors, too—" Dr. Rao said.

"No." Jack shook his head. "I _need_ Schneeplestein. Is he here?"

"Is who here?" a German voice said near the hallway. The owner of said voice appeared around the corner and stepped into the main room. Dr. Schneeplestein was dressed in a white lab coat, his name tag clipped to his breast pocket. His eyes widened at the sight before him, from Jack's heaving chest to Jameson Jackson's limp body. "Oh, dear."

Jack and Dr. Schneeplestein locked eyes for a moment. Jack's stare was intense, and it conveyed everything he needed to say in a matter of seconds. The doctor nodded quickly and turned to Dr. Rao and Cheung.

"I'll be taking a room on ze second floor," Dr. Schneeplestein announced. "Room 34B." He waved a frantic hand at the superhero and magician. "Come, this way. I will treat your friend."

Jack readjusted Jameson on his shoulder and flashed a reassuring smile towards Marvin. He didn't even know how he could smile in a situation like this. For all he knew, he was carrying a man on death's door. Or maybe Jameson was in much worse shape than he appeared to be in...God only knows what happened in the house. Nonetheless, they followed Dr. Schneep up to the second floor, found Room 34B, and hurried inside.

As Jack plopped Jameson onto the hospital bed, Marvin slammed the door shut. Dr. Schneep moved to get a closer look at him.

"My God," he breathed, holding up the tailor's wrists. He squinted at them. "What has happened to this man?"

"He was kidnapped," Marvin growled. "Some psychobitch strung him to a ceiling and _tortured_ him for fucking weeks."

Jack winced. The venom behind Marvin's words was enough to bring him close to tears. "We only found him today. I-I tried my best to help him. I'm so sorry."

"It's a miracle he's still alive," Dr. Schneep said grimly. He gasped when he saw the lines around Jameson's neck. "He was hung, too? But not by a noose...what type of string was it?"

"Does it matter?" Marvin asked.

"Schneeplestein, you know why I'm here," Jack said. "You _need_ to save him."

Dr. Schneeplestein's hands tightened into shaky fists. Clearly, he got Jack's message. But he began to grab supplies from a cabinet by the door, rummaging for needles and liquids. "I-I'll need to get an IV needle and circulate his blood flow..."

Jack grabbed Dr. Schneeplestein's wrist. It was a gentle touch, but the doctor flinched as Jack pulled him back towards Jameson. Marvin watched with impatience and a touch of confusion. "You won't need anything medical for this. I want you to heal him."

"I—Jack, I can't," Dr. Schneep said. "I'm afraid I have to help your friend like a normal doctor would—"

"What?" Jack's face adopted a look of disappointment and irritation. "You're not gonna heal him with—?"

"I'm sorry." Dr. Schneeplestein bowed his head. "It's just...it's not safe. It's unwise. I—"

Marvin's eyes flashed dangerously. "So you won't help a dying man?"

"Whoa, calm down," Jack said to the magician. "Look, Schneeplestein, it's extremely important. If you've ever wanted to repay me, this is the moment. We need your help." Jack bit his lip and gestured at Jameson. "He needs your help."

Dr. Schneeplestein gazed at Jameson Jackson. His body was beaten raw. There were at least a dozen slashes on each section of his body, and his hands and legs were a sickening purple. Even his hair had suffered. From the way it was arranged, it looked like it had been yanked out in strands.

"He needs your magic," Jack said. Marvin's eyebrows raised exponentially. What had he gotten himself into? What had _Jameson_ gotten himself into?

Dr. Schneeplestein's face scrunched up in thought. He seemed troubled on what to do with his new patient. Jack's eyes bored into his soul, pressuring him. The air was thickening like molasses. Dr. Schneeplestein thought he was going to drown in it.

"Are you gonna help him or not?" Marvin finally said, breaking the tension. The German jumped and nodded furiously.

"I'll do it," he said, shaking his hands like he was drying them. He took a deep breath and laid his hands on Jameson's chest. For a few moments, nothing happened. There was deafening silence in the room, until Jack coughed. Schneep flinched, but he was completely still. 

Marvin fidgeted with his cape. "Er—"

A bright light irradiated from Schneeplestein's hands in a green burst, temporarily blinding the pair. Schneep's face was a mix of dark shadows and light tones as he stared at his patient's injuries. The light from his hands seemed to seep down to his fingertips, and like drops of rain, fell onto Jameson's body. Each drop created a green ripple of light that spread throughout his whole body. The bruises from Jameson's face blemished in the light. The gashes on his body sealed like a soft cauterization.

Jack took a hand away from his face. His mouth was agape in wonder. "It's working," he said softly.

But Jameson's limbs were still purple.

Schneeplestein's mouth thinned into a straight line. His hands shook violently like he had too much coffee. He repositioned his hands so each one was wrapped around the tailor's wrists. It seemed to help with the healing process. The purple faded into a light lavender, and slowly worked into a pale tone. Schneeplestein moved onto his limbs, grabbing Jameson's ankles. He gripped them tighter this time, and his face was beaded with sweat. Finally, with one last burst of green energy, Jameson's legs returned to their normal color. The pained expression on his face had diminished to a neutral sleeping expression.

Marvin let out a sob of relief. "Jameson!" He moved his hands as if to hug the guy, then quickly recoiled, realizing it wasn't the best time for embracing a man who just suffered through hell.

"Careful," Schneep warned Marvin, pausing to catch quick breaths. His shoulders sagged like there was a mattress tied to his back. "Jameson's not...as healed as he looks...he'll be sleeping for many hours..."

Schneeplestein slumped. Jack immediately reached out a hand to catch him. Grunting, Jack settled him into the guest chair. "Wow, that took a hell of a toll on you!"

"Happened with Bing," Schneeplestein explained, letting his arms drop to his sides. He slouched in the chair, positioning himself so his head was leaned back into the top rail of it. "Can't explain it...but I get tired...and I take some of the pain..."

Jack's eyes settled onto Schneeplestein's wrists. They weren't an ugly purple, but there was enough bruising for Jack to pick up on it. His eyes trailed down to Dr. Schneeplestein's legs. His skin was covered by his scrubs, but Jack assumed there were similar bruises down there. He quirked an eyebrow in concern. "Exactly how much pain do you take off someone?"

Dr. Schneeplestein's eyes flicked to the ceiling in exasperation. "How...how would I know? I don't use the power. Your friend's an exception."

Jack gave a nod. Marvin wiped his face (was he crying?) and smiled at Dr. Schneeplestein. "Thanks for saving my friend from the bottom of my heart. If you ever need a favor or, uh, anything really, I'll do it—"

"I'll cash in now," Dr. Schneeplestein said. "Please don't ask for such a difficult task."

"Right," Marvin said awkwardly. "So now that the air is cleared, does anyone wanna tell me what the fuck I just witnessed? Was that _magic_?"

"Well—" Jack said.

"Yes," Dr. Schneeplestein said bitterly. "It's magic."

Marvin's eyes lit up. "So magic is real? You're a wizard? Or magician?"

"He's not like that," Jack said, trying to keep Schneeplestein from using up all of his energy answering trivial questions. He hoped the doctor wouldn't mind it. "He just heals people, as far as I know."

"We," the German corrected.

"Healer, then?" Marvin proposed. "How do you even get magic powers, and how do you guys know each other?"

"Long, long story," Jack drawled. "In a nutshell, though, he got his powers the same way I got mine. Although, it was kind of a crisis moment for him."

"Might want to shut up," Dr. Schneeplestein said in one breath. He took another and prepared himself. "Don't want to spoil any of your—secrets."

"I'm a trustworthy guy!" Marvin said indignantly. "I'm not a bad guy, either. I wouldn't betray you to the police or anyone, I swear!"

"He's not one to confide," Dr. Schneeplestein continued. "Rejected my help _once_ —"

"I didn't know what to do," Jack sighed. So Schneeplestein was mad at him for ditching him at the apartment? "It was a bad day."

"I was just assaulted by your eyeball!" Schneeplestein argued. "I think that'd give you more of a reason to take me with you!"

"I must be on an acid trip..." Marvin murmured.

"I was scared!" Jack said. "I didn't think—Sam's not—"

"Who the fuck is Sam and why do you have a mean eyeball?" Marvin demanded. "You guys are arguing _right_ in front of me, and technically right above Jameson! I'd say you guys should either shut up, take it outside, or fill me in so I don't feel uncomfortable."

Jack glared at Marvin, but Schneeplestein sighed, clasping his hands in his lap. "The magician is right. We're bothering your friend here. The least we can do is offer our best explanation."

"Explanation of what, Schneeplestein?" Jack said. "Do you even know what's going on here?"

The doctor laughed without humor. "That's the point of _this_ , isn't it? You—directly or indirectly, it doesn't matter—drag us all into something bigger than ourselves, and then you bail when we offer you help. We're all strangers but at least explain _something_."

Jack bit his lip. Dr. Schneeplestein's eyes were cold with emotion—something that didn't seem possible, but made all the sense to Jack. Marvin's eyes were the opposite—burning with a crazed curiosity. Jack had a feeling he wasn't going to leave the room if he didn't give answers. He tried to put himself into Robbie's shoes for once—what would he do if he were here? Would he run like Jack wanted to? Or would Robbie—no. Jack knew the answer the second he asked the question. Robbie wasn't a gatekeeper, not even for things like information.

Jack sighed."Well, let's start with intros. I'm Jack."

Marvin whistled. "An Irish guy named Jack? Sounds lame."

"I didn't pick the name!"

"I'm Henrik Schneeplestein," Dr. Schneeplestein said next, and his voice might have been a little more firm if he didn't sound so exhausted. Jack felt a surge of guilt welling up inside of him. The poor guy wouldn't have been like that if Jack hadn't asked him for such a big favor—but if he hadn't done so, he feared that Jameson's fate wouldn't have been so fortunate.

"Welp, my name's Marvin," said Marvin. He removed his cat mask and set it on the edge of the bed, revealing curly, chartreuse hair. Jack hid his mild irritation—man, what was it with green hair being the new trend? His eyes were gray and oddly catlike. Jack figured it was the reason he wore a cat mask. "If you're gonna tell us a story, start at the beginning. It's not fun if you talk about—"

"Marvin," Dr. Schneeplestein cut off.

"What?" he said. "I want a good story!"

"You'll be disappointed," Jack said under his breath. "I guess my 'origin story' starts on a train station where I met Sam."

~***~

They knew Antisepticeye was far gone from the house, but Bing and Google didn't know what else to do. Their fight with the demon before Jack emerged with Jameson Jackson was taxing on their stamina, and the things they heard Antisepticeye utter were deeply worrying.

Google seemed to be taking the brunt of it. As soon as Jack flew away with the two newcomers, Bing watched him drop into the couch and put his head in his hands. He was no doubt trying to process what just happened, but it didn't seem like he was having luck.

In an effort to feel productive, Bing announced, "I'm gonna do a sweep of the house. Um, so we know Antisepticeye isn't peeping around the corner." When Google didn't answer, Bing's shoulders slumped. "C'mon, bud. Don't you have something you wanna say? We're pals."

It took Google a moment to glance at Bing. "You heard what he said, didn't you? About me...about _him_."

"Ryan," Bing recalled. "That's the person inside you, right? Oh, that didn't sound good."

Google didn't seem to realize the dirty implications of that sentence. "He mentioned my memories...the way he spoke about Ryan— _me_ —was not foreign in the slightest."

_All they could see was a blur. The whole room was still, but three figures were darting around it like a miniature parkour arena. Antisepticeye was laughing as he chased the two androids, slashing at anything in his way with his knife. Bing managed to get a luck whack in with a vase, and it put the game on hold for a moment as the three parties stared each other down._

_"You're not as weak as I'd expected you to be," Antisepticeye remarked, sizing up Bing. He flicked his eyes to Google. "And you...we did a good job on this, didn't we?"_

_Google lowered a pillow in dismay. His head swiveled left and right as if expecting to see someone else beside him, someone else that Antisepticeye was talking to. He found no one. "What?"_

_"Don't you r͠em̕em͡b̧e͘r̢?" Antisepticeye leered. "Or has your pa̧rt͟ner been keeping these secrets away from you?"_

_"Hey, can't we just fight?" Bing said sarcastically, shaking another vase in his hand as a visual aid. "Your voice is like nails on a chalkboard—just shut the fuck up."_

_Antisepticeye ignored him and focused his entire attention onto Google. "You could at least say something, Ryan. Aren't you proud?"_

_Google stepped back and stumbled over the thick carpet. His eyes drifted off to Antisepticeye and onto the ground, his expression contorted into a mixture of bewilderment and frustration._

_Antisepticeye's eyes widened with glee. He lunged at Google. Bing jumped with him and tackled Antisepticeye in his side, sending them both into the wall. Google snapped out of his disorientation and rushed forwards to help Bing. Antisepticeye's hand was reaching for Bing's face as if in slow motion, savoring the moment._

_And then in the corner of Bing's eye, he saw Jack trudging into the room, a panicked yet determined expression on his face. He was holding Jameson up. He heard the sound of glass screaming in his ear and used the distraction to push himself away from Antisepticeye as the room exploded into smoke._

"You guys knew each other," Bing summarized.

"We must have," Google muttered. "He knows that Ryan and I are connected. I just wish I understood what he meant by 'we'."

"Lovers?" Bing suggested, quirking his eyebrows up and down.

"Bing."

"Just a joke to ease the tension," Bing defended. "Damn, though. I can't imagine what you're going through."

"Me neither," Google said grumpily. "Perhaps if my 'partner' would stop beating around a shrub and say something—" Google gasped. Before his glasses tinted white, Bing caught a glimpse of Google's eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Google!" Bing yelled, watching his body fall back—thankfully not too far because of the couch, but it was still stressing. "Dude, are you good? Hey, answer me, you tin can—"

Bing tapped Google's forehead. No response. He slapped him lightly on the cheek. Slowly, Google's glasses cleared up. He blinked once, his eyes rolling back into view.

"Dude, what the fuck did you just do?" Bing exclaimed.

Google sucked in a deep breath, his eyes wide. "It worked. Ryan revealed the rest of his memories to me."

"And? Is it good? What's it about?"

Google scrambled out of the couch. "We need to find Jack. He needs to know."

"I'm—what—?"

"We need to go," Google urged. "It's about how we knew each other."

~***~

Antisepticeye watched the two machines leave the house. Although, it was his house now, wasn't it? The owners owed him something for the suffering they'd caused him, and their blood wasn't enough payment. The house was the last of the debt.

"Once a house of strings," Antisepticeye sang, stepping inside. "Now a house of broken things."

He treaded lightly up the staircase. He didn't need to explore the first floor to know that his marionette would not be in the basement, or to find any of those foolish people playing hero waiting for him. He unlocked the second door and peered inside. The helix machine was still in its place. Antisepticeye sifted through the wires cascading around it and spotted the device Leon "gave" him. It was still tucked away in the center of the machine, safe and sound.

"But this house still has a use," Antisepticeye muttered. "Thanks to the help of a Google muse."

He dispersed into shadows. The next time he re-emerged as himself, he was standing outside an apartment in a lonely section downtown. It was almost considered rural in Antisepticeye's books.

He focused on the building. Inside, there was someone he needed to find. Someone very, _very_ important.

"It's time to strike, I'm armed with a knife," Antisepticeye chanted. "I promised you: á ̕l̡if̨e͝ for͢ ͏a̸ life̛."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :-J
> 
> Tumblr: ḫ̡t̠̺̣̣̀ţ͓̤̭͇̼̣̤p͇͉̠͎̩̱̟s̰͎͖̕:̹̟͇̳ͅ/̸̹͍͈̝̠̻/̻̼̩̗ͅf̵͚a͍͖̞͎̭̹͕n͉̮̺̰t͙͚̖̭̳͜a̗̻͜ͅͅ-̛̣̙z̡̙̪̩̤̫̲e̻͙e̥̘̱̖͉y͈̖͓̙͔̣à͖̺̼á̟̙̙.̰̱̱̗̀t͏̳̝̬u̻̳̜m͇̰͟ḇ̧l͙̙̀r̻̥̥̯̯̣̦.̠͡c͚̦̱͉͙o͇̫͈̪͍m͎̙
> 
> Bu iqvu, rkj cehu ycfehjqdjbo, ru ijybb.


	42. Dust to Dust

As he talked, the words poured out of Jack's mouth without trouble. Jack didn't know where all the words were even coming from. From the beginning, he wanted to be a one man army, a light of hope in a city of peril. The best superheroes, Jack thought, were the ones that didn't need help. They didn't need to confide in anyone, or explain anything. But that was far from the truth. Now he knew he was wrong. Perhaps he needed people—friends—to fall back on. To be there for him.

Dr. Schneeplestein was an excellent listener. Maybe it was because he was eager to help from the beginning, or maybe because he was a doctor. Whatever the case, he nodded his head as Jack talked and didn't ask questions until Jack was finished with a section. Marvin, on the other hand, was a little more distracted. His eyes kept wandering around the room and resting onto Jameson as if hoping the man would wake up soon, and for the few moments where his eyes settled onto Jack's mouth, he opened his, too, about to ask a question. It was only Schneeplestein's side glares at the magician that stopped him from saying anything.

Jack recounted almost everything to the pair. He told them about Sam's powers and how it gave him powers. He told them about the fires and Antisepticeye's & Google IRL's attack on Bing, and how Dr. Schneeplestein saved Bing because Sam gave him powers, too. Jack carried on with the story about Google and Bing, how they discovered Bing was an android, and that Google's programming was oddly human. Some things he kept to himself, though, because they were a little uncomfortable to think about, like the chilling words Antisepticeye whispered to him at The Blues, but he did explain the attacks at Heartstone Hospital and The Blues. By the time he finished it up with Jameson Jackson's rescue, Dr. Schneeplestein was hunched forward in his chair, intrigued and fascinated. Marvin had stopped darting around and had his eyes glued to Jameson's body.

"So...he talked to you in his head," Marvin said. His voice wasn't animated, nor was it monotone. It was matter-of-fact.

"It sounds weird, I get it," Jack admitted. "But it's the truth."

"So...Jameson's got powers? Like you two?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "I'm sorry. None of this should have happened. It's my fault Jameson was caught up in all of this."

Marvin's brow furrowed. His eyes were filled with fury, but he wasn't looking at Jack. His gaze burned into Jameson's stomach, almost like he was trying to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. Jack recognized this type of stubbornness. Before Jack could add on to his apology, Marvin spoke. "Well...he probably would have done it anyway. If he knew what would have happened. I don't think it's your fault."

And just like that, Jack was forgiven. It was so simple. Just a few words. But they carried a lot of weight. And it wasn't even from Jameson to Jack. It shouldn't have mattered that Marvin forgave him. It only mattered what Jameson thought. But Jack realized something. He always tried to do what was right, and a lot of that involved asking himself, _What would Robbie do?_ Maybe Marvin wasn't much different. Jameson must've been the closest thing Marvin had to a friend, and vice versa. Maybe Marvin was also asking, _What would Jameson do?_

"Thanks," Jack said, forcing out his words. He held back his tears; a mask could only hide so much. To avoid having a breakdown, he focused his attention towards Jameson. "I don't know what'll happen when he wakes up. If he's still not in a good mindset..."

The sentence lingered in the air like a bad smell. Marvin shook his head. "I'll be here when he wakes up. It wouldn't kill to see a familiar face."

"Marvin, it's not a feeling you want to experience," Jack warned. "When he projected all of that mind stuff onto me—"

"He'll be fine," Dr. Schneeplestein said assuringly. "I will stay, too. I work for this hospital, and without me, you cannot be in here."

"Awesome—" A sudden buzzing caught the attention of the room. Jack quickly realized it was his phone and retrieved it from one of his unscathed pockets. Damn, he should really fix his suit. His eyebrows raised as he read the text message.

_Signe: Hey, you up for early dinner?_

"Important superhero stuff?" Marvin guessed.

"Uh..." Jack smiled awkwardly. "A friend is asking me if she wants to get dinner."

"A 'she'," Marvin said, also smiling. "Could've just said it was a date."

"It's—it's not," Jack stammered. "And that's kind of my business, thanks." He bit his lip. "I gotta cancel. I need to stay here until Jameson's up and—"

"No, that's not what you're gonna do," Marvin said, shaking his head profusely. "We've got it covered here. Schneeplestein and I can watch him. You go have fun on a date."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked.

"Jack," Schneeplestein chided. "You think we're incapable of watching an unconscious man? Take her out on a date already!"

"Jeez," Jack muttered, but they all laughed. He sent a quick text back to Signe: _Sounds awesome. I'll meet you in the lobby soon!_ Then he walked to the hospital window and opened it, squeezing through.

"Have fun!" Marvin said.

Jack waved back at the two men and hopped out. He willed himself to fly up until he was above the hospital's roof, and he took off to the apartment.

~***~

It was five o'clock in the afternoon when Jack arrived at the apartment. He settled down on the roof and headed down to his floor. He quickly threw off his battered suit, pulled a clean shirt and jeans on, and snatched his wallet off his dresser. It was weird not seeing Sam in their hanging bed—they were still with Bing and Google, back at Antisepticeye's old base of operations. He wondered if they were done by now.

But that was a thought for later. He wasn't Jack anymore. He was Sean McLoughlin, a normal citizen of Capo City.

When he reached the lobby, Signe was waiting for him at the couch. She was dressed in her beige trench coat, which concealed her top from view. Her hair was a little more curled than usual, and it bounced when she stood up to greet him. "Hey, Sean. Wow, you look great."

Sean's cheeks flushed. Did she mean it? Normally, flattery didn't work on him, but he went giddy at the compliment. "Thanks, you too!" He broke eye contact—was he staring too much? "Where do you wanna get dinner?"

"Have you tried this Mexican place called Maria's?" Signe said. Sean shook his head. "It's really good. Their tacos are really tasty!"

"We should definitely go there," Sean agreed.

"Great," Signe said, and she held out her hand. Sean froze—or he thought he did. Time seemed to stop. He was only aware that his heart was beating at a tremendously fast pace, and that Signe's eyes had never looked so beautiful. He almost sucked in a breath. Signe noticed his reaction and laughed awkwardly. "Hahaha, sorry about that. I...uh...we can just hold hands as friends...really good buddies?"

Sean took her hand. It was soft and warm to the touch, and it fit with Sean's perfectly, like two puzzle pieces. He smiled. "Buddy system?"

Signe snorted, but her nod was firm. "Buddy system."

They started their walk to Maria's. It probably would've taken them ten minutes to get there, but it took twenty. They were too busy sharing stories and laughs. Getting there faster would've ruined the moment. And honestly, Sean almost forgot they were going to get dinner.

With her, his heart was plenty full.

~***~

Jameson was sleeping peacefully—as peacefully as one could after experiencing torture for more than seven days. Marvin's lip was set in a hard line, and Dr. Schneeplestein was hooking him up to a machine to monitor his conditions in a professional manner.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" Marvin asked quietly.

"I have no idea. Your friend has seen a lot. I've healed his body, but I can't heal the mind. And the mind will decide when it wants to wake up."

"That's cryptic," Marvin muttered.

"Do not fear," Schneeplestein said dismissively. "Something tells me your friend will be in fine condition."

"If you say so..." Marvin said, but a feeling of unease couldn't seem to leave him. He felt there was something else wrong with Jameson, and not just with his mind. The wounds on Jameson's body was patched, leaving only thin, white lines for scars. A single thought plagued Marvin: What if Schneeplestein hadn't healed all of him? What if they were missing something?

Another hour passed. The clock ticked in the background, cutting away the near silence. It was almost serene. Schneeplestein propped up his elbow and rested his head on his fist. He suggested Marvin take a few minutes to catch up on sleep, as it would be a while before Jameson would come around. Marvin tried to get comfy and failed. As the clock reached 6:20, Schneeplestein was dozing off in his chair, leaving Marvin to worry over Jameson.

"I'm sorry," he confessed, once he was sure Dr. Schneeplestein wasn't gonna wake up from his talking. Jameson, not surprisingly, didn't answer. Marvin continued bitterly. "I wasn't there when you needed someone. I could've done something to save you." As he said that, Marvin bit his lip. His lie couldn't have been more fake. What could he have done to help Jameson? If Jack couldn't face against Antisepticeye alone, then what could Marvin and Jameson have done together to make a difference? "I can't even imagine what happened. I don't think I want to. But please wake up. I don't want to lose..." He closed his eyes, and by doing so, let the tears trickle down his cheeks. "I don't want to lose my friend."

Jameson's body didn't stir. There was no way Marvin's words would have affected him. But he didn't care. And he heard Jameson's voice calling back to him.

_You won't lose me._

But it didn't feel real. It was almost an imagination.

~***~

Thankfully, Signe and Sean got to Maria's before it got too dark outside. The restaurant wasn't that fancy, much to Sean's delight. He didn't exactly dress for the occasion.

He held the door open for Signe. "How many times have you been here before?"

"Whenever I get tired of cooking," Signe said. "Basically, every two weeks or so." A waitress came up to ask her for the number of party. "Ah, two, please."

The waitress smiled and seated them in a booth to the side of the restaurant. Sean shivered. Combined with the dim lighting and the booths, it made him a little uncomfortable. He thought back to The Blues bar and his conversation with Leon. He wasn't one to check out the news daily, so he had no idea what was going on with the gangs or if The Blues had been shut down.

 _This isn't Sean's concern,_ he thought. _This is Jack's. And I'm not Jack right now._

"Cold?" Signe asked.

"Huh? Oh." Sean smiled guiltily. "A little. No big deal."

"What's wrong?" Signe asked, tilting her head. "You look—well, it's a little rude for me to say, but...are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Sean said. She raised her eyebrows, refusing to give up. He sighed. "Well, something came up. Do you know about a missing person near our apartment?"

"Oh, yeah. The tailor, right? Jameson Jackson?" Signe said. "He's got a soul voice."

"We found him," Sean said.

"Wha—that's great to hear! But why do you look so sad?" Signe's face went pale. "Unless...?"

"No, no!" Jack said immediately. "I didn't meant it like that! Sorry for giving you the wrong idea. It's—"

He faltered. The waitress who seated them earlier was approaching their table. "Would you guys like anything to drink?"

"Water, please," Signe said.

"Same here," Sean added.

"Two waters, got it." The waitress left as quickly as she came.

"Back to the story," Signe said, focusing her eyes back to Sean. "You found Mr. Jackson?"

"Mm-hm. He's not looking too good, though. The doctor says his wounds will heal just fine, but I'm worried about his mental health. We—we don't know what happened to him, really. It couldn't have been good. When he wakes up, we don't know how he'll be."

"Ah..." Signe frowned. "I hope he gets better. Mental health is just as important as physical, and..." She trailed off, lost in thought. She collected herself a second later. "PTSD and depression is never fun."

"Sorry for bringing up all this bad stuff," Sean said shamefully. "This probably isn't the stuff we should be talking about on a date—uh, is this a date?"

"Heh, heh, I-I don't know," Signe said just as nervously. "Is that what you want this to be?"

"If you want it to be a date," Sean offered.

They fell into an awkward silence. Sean couldn't help but wonder if she wanted it to be romantic or purely platonic. He wanted it to be a date, but he cared more about what she wanted than himself. Was he selfish for wanting that? What if Signe was thinking the same thing?

Gosh, he was so flustered.

Fortunately, the waitress came back. Perhaps she had sensed they needed an icebreaker to get back to talking normally. "Are you guys ready to order?"

Sean's eyes widened a fraction. He totally forgot about the menu lying in front of him. Hastily, he flicked through the menu as Signe ordered some tacos and nachos.

"And for the gentleman?" the waitress asked.

"Uh...I'll have a...chimichanga. With shredded beef," Sean answered quickly.

The waitress nodded. "Do you want anything on the side of it?"

"Er, no thank you."

"Okie dokie. Your food will be right with you."

The brief interruption worked. Sean and Signe went back to sharing facts about themselves. Signe had a sister and moved to Capo City so she could pursue a career in art, but ended up getting a job as a worker for the apartment by some miracle. Her eyes lit up when she talked about her home and family. Sean found himself listening to her every word.

Their food arrived, and they split the nachos. Signe even let him try a bit of her taco, which Sean had to agree was the best taco he'd ever had—not that he's tried a lot. By the time their bill came, Signe and Sean were laughing and trying to finish their plate of nachos.

"I'll pay it," Signe said, reaching for the black book.

"No, I've got it," Sean said, pulling out his wallet. He grabbed his credit card and put it on the book before Signe could snatch it off the table. "It's my pleasure."

"Really?"

Sean grinned. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

They walked back together, but not without—

"Buddy system?" Sean asked, holding out his hand.

"Buddy system." Signe took it. His hand was a little cold at first grasp, but her hand, which was naturally warm, was beginning to cozy up his.

And nothing could have ruined the moment.

~***~

Robbie jumped into his couch and grabbed the TV remote. He had finished his research on the house where Antisepticeye's operations used to be, and the news wasn't good. Apparently, the place belonged to a married couple—two doctors that worked for Heartstone Hopsital—before Antisepticeye came along. It took Robbie an hour to gather enough information on where they were now. Oddly enough, their information was almost wiped from existence, leaving no trace behind. He suspected it was Antisepticeye's doing, so he supposed it wasn't as odd as it seemed. Though, it left him wondering why Antisepticeye would even target the doctors.

He flipped through the channels. Jim News was broadcasting from The Blues, explaining the slaughter that happened there. Jack must've filled them in after they planned Jameson's rescue. Robbie switched stations until he settled on Grey's Anatomy. He didn't watch Grey's Anatomy often, but it was always fun to see what happened if he skipped a season. Except halfway through an episode, Robbie zoned out.

Antisepticeye's targets ranged from criminals to doctors. What was the connection?

He killed an entire _warehouse_ of Google workers. He killed an entire floor _and_ bar full of gang members. The Google workers part made sense—if you were a madman, you'd kill whoever got in your way to get something important. He could understand the Cobalts murder, too—it was for a mysterious piece of tech that they had no leads on. But why the criminals in Heartstone? The explosion—it had to be his doing, too. Why go to all that trouble?

And sure, Robbie understood that Antisepticeye needed the technology, but why go out of his way and make it so painful? He's a psychopath, but he couldn't be _that_ insane, right? There had to be a reason for all of this, for his motives. What did Antisepticeye _want_?

His TV flickered off. Robbie flinched and clicked the power button. The TV turned on for a brief second, then displayed static. The frown on Robbie's face deepened. He reached for his phone.

As if on cue, the lights in his apartment cut, leaving him in darkness. Robbie froze and sucked in a breath, his movements stiff as he got up from the couch. This wasn't a regular power outage. This was foul play.

There was a knock on Robbie's door. Through the darkness, he could see a darker shadow underneath the door. He backed up and looked around wildly, hoping there was something he could defend himself with. His room was completely barren of items. He knew he shouldn't have tried to be minimalistic.

The shadow slipped through the small crack and made its way towards him. Before his very eyes, a figure burst from the darkness, standing tall. A man with a knife and a wicked smile.

"No..." Robbie breathed.

"Yes." Antisepticeye lifted his knife, just to show Robbie he had one with him. It wasn't threatening, but it was certainly intimidating. Robbie backed up until he hit the wall. "You're that computer guy. The one that helps _Jack_." He chuckled darkly. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you the way I hurt Jameson...he was just a little puppet. Nothing like _you_."

"What do you want?" Robbie pleaded.

"I want your knowledge," Antisepticeye said. "I want your brains helping me with my _very_ fun project." He noticed the look on Robbie's face and snorted. "You weren't ever a choice. Not until _Ryan_ wrecked my plans."

Ryan?

"Whatever you want, I-I won't help you," Robbie said, voice trembling. "Find s-someone else."

"Oh, but I don't want to," Antisepticeye said, and he positioned his knife under Robbie's throat so that it touched it but didn't break skin. "I'll ask ág̀a̟̹̮͕͞iń̦̱̤̫, and this is the last time I make such a gene̸r̴o̴u͠s͘ offer. _Join. Me._ "

Robbie closed his eyes. For a second, he was able to forget the knife under his throat, the darkness surrounding him, Antisepticeye's words. It was all white noise. And then it came back in an instant, nearly drowning him. His heart was hammering away, and his knees were starting to shake.

"No."

The knife slashed across his throat in a thin line. Robbie yelped and clapped his hands to his throat, hoping to stem the blood. Antisepticeye stepped back, disappointment etched across his ugly features. "I really thought you were wise. But I _did_ like you. You reminded me of me."

He wiped the knife across his pants and sighed. "I'm feeling n̟̳̫͉̞ͅic̨͍̳̱̝͉ȩ̦̳ today. I'll answer all your silly questions— _it won't matter after tonight_."

~***~

"Signe," Sean said slowly, as they neared their apartment. Signe looked up at him with bright eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Why is the apartment's lights off?"

"Oh, shit," Signe said, eyes widening, and the pair rushed across the street to the building. It was hard to see once inside, so Sean pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it around. 

"Power outage?" Signe wondered.

"But the whole block is fine," Sean replied.

"Ugh, the residents did it again," Signe muttered. She shot Sean an apologetic look. "Two years ago, our entire power was out for a day because someone plugged in one too many appliances."

"I didn't think you could do that," Sean laughed.

"You'd be surprised," Signe said. "Hey, can you check downstairs? There's a backup generator, as well as our power supply grid thingy. I'd touch it, but I don't know what to do."

"I'm sure I can get it going," Sean agreed. "Where are you going?"

Signe stopped at the stairs. "Well, I'm technically the 'manager' of this place. Gotta tell the residents the problem and to stop plugging in stuff all at once."

"Oh, right." Sean grinned at her. "See you when the lights come on."

Once he left for the basement, Signe started up the stairs. What did her tenants get into this time? More rice cookers? Curling irons?

She started on the second floor—Robbie's floor. She turned on her flashlight in her phone and knocked on his door. "Robbie? Hey, it's Signe."

No answer. Signe shrugged. Guess it was one of those rare moments where Robbie left the apartment for some actual air. She was just about to turn around for the stairs when she heard a thump inside the room. She paused, listening for more sound. "Robbie?"

This time, there was another sound—a half-stifled scream that sent chills down Signe's spine. She steeled herself and gripped her phone a little tighter. "The landlord is _not_ gonna be too happy..."

She raised her foot and gave a hard kick. The door shuddered dangerously. She pursed her lips and kicked it again. Nothing. She puffed out a breath of air, shook her hands a little, and prepared herself one last time. Signe was strong. It was just a door. She could do it.

She grunted and shoved her entire weight against the door, and this time it fell forwards into Robbie's living room. She stumbled through, surprised at her own strength, and looked around for the noise. Signe was not expecting the sight before her.

In the dark, a man was standing over a curled figure on the ground. Her eyes peered at them, and she gasped when she saw a glint in the man's hand: a knife.

"Sir!" Signe yelled. "Put down your knife and get out of this apartment!"

The man simply laughed. A maniacal, hysterical laugh that sounded like an echo. He readjusted the knife threateningly towards Signe. "You want to be a hero, too?" he crooned softly.

Signe glared at him, but her eyes trailed down at the figure. It was no doubt Robbie. She knew she had to do something about it—was he even still alive?

"Say goodbye," the man said, and his eyes glowed green. Signe stepped back instinctively, her mouth opening in shock. He lunged at her, knife pointed at her heart, and she screamed, thrusting out her hands like she was setting her fingers down on piano keys. Immediately, a flare of gold light erupted from her chest and shot through her fingertips, hitting the man square in the chest. The force of the light rocketed the man into the wall behind him. He collapsed with a shriek.

She held out her hands and took a confident step forward. Her mouth was gritted, but she spat, "Get out of my apartment."

The man got up. Signe kept her hands in front of her face, and despite the amount of emotions running through her, she managed to keep them steady. He grinned. "You will _regret_ messing with me."

"One more word and I'll kill you right here," Signe snarled.

"There's no _need_ ," the man said calmly. " _One_ body is enough to deal with." And just like that, the man was done. Shadows wrapped around his body and carried him out of the window, far away from the apartment. At least, that was the hope.

Once he was gone, Signe dropped her hands and rushed forward. She turned Robbie over onto his back and started to check for injuries. There was a gash along his throat, but it wasn't major—just a little line of red. Her eyes trailed down to his stomach—oh God, his stomach...

"SEAN!" Signe shouted, loud enough for the whole apartment to hear her. She glanced around and spotted paper towels resting by his sink. She snatched those off the counter and began stuff the holes in his chest with them, praying they would help clot the blood flow. "Please, no..."

The lights turned on. So Sean finally got the power on. Signe took a deep breath and tried to keep her emotions intact. "I'm sorry, Robbie." She ran to the door and shouted for Jack down the steps, then pulled out her phone and dialed emergency services. She returned to Robbie's side after, waiting for the operator to pick up.

Sean arrived at the floor seconds later, looking confused and slightly distressed. "What's wrong?" his voice said from outside.

"Sean!" Signe called. "In here!"

His figure stepped over the doorway effortlessly. He was at her side in an instant, his eyes wide. "Robbie? Robbie!"

At Sean's words, Robbie's eyes snapped open. He opened his mouth and gasped. "S..."

"What happened? What did—?"

"...ean," Robbie rasped. Sean grabbed his hand and gripped it tight. Signe's lip trembled as the operator started talking to her. She explained the situation, rattled off the address, and hung up, lifting Robbie's shirt to see the full damage. His entire stomach was red with blood, spilling onto the flooring. His eyes were half-closed and tired. There were at least eight entry wounds in his abdomen, and slices near his shoulders and collarbone. Signe bit her lip and kept rolling paper towels over the blood, hands shaking.

"Robbie, don't—don't speak, you need to relax," Sean started.

"Him," Robbie said, choking up. "Ant...know the plan...wants possess."

"Robbie, don't worry about that right now—I'll get Schneeplestein, he'll—he'll save you—" 

"No," Robbie said, and his voice was soft this time. Soft and faded. "He...needs...tech...machine...for powers..."

Blood gurgled out of Robbie's mouth. Signe's eyes watered. She glanced at Sean and shook her head. In that instant, her expression conveyed a thousand words, words Sean would have gladly taken over her look of pure defeat. Robbie would not be making it out of this apartment alive, and everyone knew it.

Robbie's eyes latched onto Sean's like a lifeline.

"I'm so sorry," Sean cried.

"Not your...fault," Robbie said quietly. He managed one last weak smile, and if he weren't covered in blood, it would have felt like any other day. "Never your fault. Thanks for...everythi..."

He went silent. Sean felt Robbie's grip loosen up, but he remained firm, even as Robbie's eyes glazed over and his chest shuddered still.

"Sean, you need to let go," Signe told him, wiping her tears. He realized she was on the verge of crying, but he refused to let go. He couldn't leave Robbie—he was always leaving him, but this time he wouldn't. "The ambulance will be here soon. They'll...they'll want to speak to us."

Sean hung his head. Tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to spill over Robbie's body. It was so broken, so destroyed. "It's all my fault," he sobbed.

"Sean, it's not your fault," Signe said dejectedly. "None of this is your fault."

 _But it was,_ Sean thought.

Because he remembered Antisepticeye's words. They didn't mean anything back at the house, but now they rang in his ears.

_A life for a life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite how it had gone down. This was all planned from the start.
> 
> ~***~
> 
> You've probably realized something if you're reading this chapter. (The title of the story has changed once again.) Having it be "Septic Superhero: JBM" wasn't really interesting enough for me, so I was like, "ok forget it, let's make it interesting". The series that this work is apart of is also up there, based on the song by The Killers. That's right...this is the first story. :)
> 
> Caesar Cipher for Chapter 41's notes: The number of this chapter.


	43. They'll All Fall Down

The police arrived within the next ten minutes.

Signe, as the current manager of the apartment, did most of the talking. While the paramedics draped a white sheet over Robbie's body, two police officers were engaging her in conversation, asking for a full story. There were other police officers loitering around, too, taking pictures and examining the living room. Sean watched from the side, numb. Sometimes the police officers would ask him simple questions, and he'd have no choice but to respond. They eventually left him alone, though, after realizing how shellshocked he was.

Signe's mumblings were out of earshot to him, but he saw the officer with her nod and put his pen and notepad away. Signe bowed her head and grabbed what was left of the paper towels, heading for Sean.

"Do you need some?" she asked gently, motioning to his hands. They were still covered in blood. Robbie's blood.

It hadn't even dried yet.

Signe grabbed his hand and began wiping blood away. Sean couldn't even find the words to say "thank you", but she understood his body language enough to get his message. They stood in silence for a minute, and Sean tried to distract himself by watching her hands. They moved in a slow, mesmerizing trance. At last, most of the blood was cleared from his hands. Signe threw the paper towels in a trash can next to her.

Sean's eyes trailed up. Three paramedics were crouching around the white sheet, waving their hands to each other, giving instructions. In unison, they grabbed the ends of the sheet and lifted Robbie up onto a stretcher. A fourth paramedic was standing at the door, motioning for them to move. Sean blinked back tears as he saw them carry his friend outside.

The officer Signe was previously talking to approached the pair. His face was grim and full of sympathy. Quickly, he adjusted his glasses. "I'm sorry for your loss. Especially given the circumstances."

"Thank you, Officer Carter," Signe said, wiping the edge of her eye.

"They'll be taking him to the nearest hospital, which is Heartstone," Officer Carter said. "He'll be transferred to the morgue until the proper paperwork is completed and arrangements have been made."

"Arrangements?" Sean spoke up.

"Assuming your friend has a will," Officer Carter explained. "And if family or friends decide to hold a funeral service. I should also be informing you that we will be doing an investigation for his murder."

 _It's no use,_ Sean thought. _They can't arrest someone like Antisepticeye._

"Well, thank you for everything, sir," Signe said kindly, trying to put on a smile. It failed miserably, and she ended up with a lopsided frown, her lip trembling. Officer Carter shook their hands and left.

"We don't have to stay here anymore," Signe said to Sean. "The police don't need anything else. We can...go back to our own rooms."

Jack inhaled. His floor was as far away from Robbie's as possible, yet Sean couldn't imagine going to sleep, knowing that he would never see Robbie alive. Would never hear him speak, would never watch him smile, would never visit his room for casual hangouts. The thought was terrifying and depressing. "What are you going to do?"

Signe shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I feel like I should do something, but there's nothing for me here. I...I guess I have to inform the other tenants about this." She bit her lip. "I don't think they'll want to stay here any longer."

Sean couldn't blame a tenant for wanting to leave. He could _relate_. If he had the chance, he'd move out of there as fast as he could, and he'd find another apartment on the opposite side of the city. But he was stuck in the apartment, a constant reminder to his failures as a friend and a hero.

His phone buzzed. Sean barely glanced at it, but the name caught his eye: Bing. It was a message, telling him that they finally left Antisepticeye's old house without complications and that they needed to see him right this second. Sean glared at Antisepticeye's name so hard he thought he'd develop laser vision and burn right through the phone. Instead of hot beams shooting from his eyes, tears fell and hit his phone screen.

"Hey, are you okay?" Signe asked. She seemed to regret saying that a second later, for she opened her mouth and closed it, struggling to find words. "I mean, I get it. But...is there something else going on?"

"Everything's fine," Sean lied. "I-I've gotta go."

"Sean..." Signe started, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Please d-don't leave..."

"I'm so sorry, I just can't be here right now." Sean shook his head vigorously and took a step towards the door. He found it hard to move his feet. It was like wading through water. Step by step, he passed the spot where Robbie previously laid, ignoring the tape and the yellow markers. He passed a police photographer and tried to ignore the curious stare he was given. Guilt was eating away at him, and more importantly, a sense of failure. Robbie didn't have to die tonight. If he had just realized Antisepticeye's words, had taken it _seriously_...

Suddenly, Sean was up on the roof of the apartment. He didn't really remember getting there, but his feet always knew where to go, he supposed. The air was cold tonight, attacking Sean's face, ripping at his clothes. Oh, no...his clothes. He stared at them with horror, the numbness coming back to him. There were splatters of blood tipping the edge of his shirt, and the white rim around his sneakers were smeared with red.

Sean closed his eyes and lifted into the air. He flew high, high enough so nobody could have possibly seen him, to the point where the cold was almost warm against his numb body, and he let tears slide down his face freely. Nobody could have seen him mourning from up there, and he took solace in that, hugging his knees and burying his head into his chest. His body was racking with loud sobs, and if his stitches hadn't healed before then, he was sure they'd rip open.

_Ant...know the plan...wants possess._

_He...needs...tech...machine...for powers..._

Sean's breath caught in his throat. Robbie had used his last words to tell Sean as much as he could. It meant something. But why? Sean almost hated Robbie for using his dying breath to say that. He should've, for once, focused on himself.

"Why did you have to play hero?" Sean whispered to himself.

~***~

Bing's apartment had tidied up considerably since their fight. Their was still duct tape lining the hole in the wall, but the blood had been cleaned off the carpet, and Bing had a new coffee table for his couches. At least Google hadn't caused too much damage.

The man in question fidgeted with his glasses as they waited for Jack to show up. His glasses were always in pristine condition, but after the event at The Blues, he had been trying to find a flaw in them. Just a smidge of dirt. Maybe a smear. But there was nothing to fix.

 _What are we going to tell him?_ Google thought, distressed.

 _Everything,_ Ryan answered back. _Our information is bigger than ourselves now._

Bing took off his shades and hung them on the collar of his tank top. He eyed Google nervously. "I don't think he's gonna show."

"He needs to," Google persisted. "If he doesn't, we'll never win against Antisepticeye."

The two men heard a light knocking at the window. Bing rolled his eyes and went to open the window. "Definitely Jack. Can't the dude just enter an apartment the _normal_ way?"

It was Jack, all right, but he wasn't wearing his suit. Instead, he was just a regular guy in civilian clothes. And he was livid.

Jack didn't wait for Bing to open it all the way. His head hit the top of the window as he rolled inside the room, and he scowled at Google with burning fury. Anxiously, Google stood up.

"Sean—er, Jack? We need to talk—"

Instantly, Jack's hands reached out and grabbed Google's shirt. He shouted and lifted the man up into the air, his eyes wide. It all happened so fast, Google didn't know how to respond. In the back of his head, Ryan was urging Google to shake him off. " _You're damn right we do._ What the fuck have you been hiding? What was so _fucking important_ that you couldn't tell me earlier?"

"Dude, chill out!" Bing interjected, making a move forward. Sean whipped his head to the skater, and Bing retracted. "Okay, never mind."

"You," Jack said in a dangerously low tone, "are going to tell me everything you've been keeping in that head of yours _now_."

"I-I was going to from the start," Google said quickly. "That's why we called you—I got my memories—just drop me and I'll—"

Jack released him. If Google hadn't been expecting it, he would've dropped straight to the ground. Luckily, he managed to land on his feet, albeit sloppily. "Fuck," Jack cursed, stepping back.

"What's gotten you so riled up?" Bing said, waving his arms. "You were fine when we left you and now you look like you're ready to kill Google!"

Jack looked down, suddenly interested in his shoes. The sudden shift drew Bing and Google's attention to his appearance, and they finally noticed the blood on his shoes and shirt. Google widened his eyes in realization. Bing was frowning, his expression concerned.

"Is that your blood...?" Bing asked tentatively.

"No." Jack wiped his face angrily, as if trying to clean it of something—maybe more blood, but Google couldn't spot any.

"Jack," Google said. The latter's back was turned towards the pair, so he didn't see Google's slow steps towards him. "Who...? What happened?"

"What do you _think_ , Google?" Jack said harshly. He spun around. His eyes were red, his cheeks flushed. "Antisepticeye struck again."

He exhaled softly and glanced away. "Robbie's dead."

"You can't be serious," Bing said.

"Do I—do I look serious?" Jack said, gesturing at himself. "I watched my friend _die_! What—what kind of sick joke do you think—?"

His voice cracked. Noticing how unstable he was, he closed his mouth and shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," Google said sympathetically. "But...why are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong?"

"You know what was one of the last things Robbie said to me?" Jack asked bitterly. "He tried to tell me about Antisepticeye's plans. Plans that you knew in the back of your head. Why did he have to waste his energy trying to warn me, Google? _Why?_ "

Google looked away in shame. "Ryan never revealed this until a few hours ago."

"Oh, so Ryan kept it to himself, then," Jack said. "Awesome, perfect. That doesn't mean he should have!"

"Can we just stop fighting?" Bing said loudly. "Like, I get this is serious shit, but you aren't doing squat by arguing over nothing! Google—or Ryan, fuck—can you just explain everything?"

Google's eyes rolled into the back of his head. And suddenly he was no longer the driver of this machine. Ryan had pushed him to the backseat and assumed control.

"Jack, it's me now," Ryan said. His voice was different from the one Google was programmed with. Google hoped Jack and Bing would understand that. "I am truly sorry for holding back things from you. _All_ of you," he added as an afterthought. "A lot of this is personal for me. I couldn't share it then."

Ryan took a breath and glanced back at Jack. His body was rigid like a board, but his expression had softened, becoming less like jagged glass. "It all started with Google."

"I was an employee for the company Google, one of the lead designers and engineers. I did a lot of creating for the phones and computers, but one day we came up with a new idea—to make 'Google IRL'. A robot that answered questions as quickly as possible."

Jack frowned. "We...?"

Ryan spread his hands. "Me and my partner. His name is Matt Watson, but I guess you'd call him Antisepticeye." He swallowed hard. He continued when he realized Jack and Bing were keeping their exclamations to themselves. "We worked for Google because we wanted to make a difference and help people, but working for Google was not the way to go."

~***~

_"Matt, what is this?" Ryan asked his partner. Matt looked up from his computer as Ryan motioned to some pictures on their worktable._

_"Don't worry about it," Matt said absentmindedly. "Just a side project."_

_"This doesn't look like a side project," Ryan murmured, picking up the pictures to examine them. They were photos of emails and letters sent by Google officials and the CEO himself, all talking about money transfers and transactions. He picked up a few more photos. They depicted some officials—some Ryan even recognized—outside a house, exchanging suitcases. One picture had a close-up on the case. Inside, twelve stacks of money, perfectly lined up. "Matt, what did you do?"_

_Matt set down his pencil. "Something wasn't right with the money flow, especially everyone's paychecks. I followed some people on the board and found out what was going on. They're corrupt people, Ryan. They've been ripping us of our hard work and money, selling it to shady people."_

_"Why take pictures?" Ryan asked. He blanched. "Unless...you want to expose them."_

_"Why wouldn't I?" Matt laughed. "Think of how many people we're helping if I do this. We can sue Google and get rid of all the corrupted chair members." He jerked his thumb towards the robot in the corner—an Asian man with a blue shirt and clean glasses. "If we finish Google IRL under Google, we'll never see it hit stores. It'll be sold to the highest bidder on a black market or to some other country."_

~***~

"It didn't take me long to see all of Matt's points. He was persuasive and cunning. Plus, he was doing this for everyone. But it didn't end well. Someone high up found out about the photos and our plan. They hired petty criminals to kill us—probably to keep their hands clean and blame it on the gangs when the job was done."

~***~

_Ryan finished tinkering with the last of Google's parts when the lights flickered off. He jumped in his seat and turned on his heel. There were burly looking men running around the building, heading for his door. Sprinting into action, Ryan raced towards the door, slammed it, and locked it, scrambling to pile it with desks and chairs. He knew he wasn't going to make it out of this place alive. There were too many men. There was no escape, no secret doors or walls to flee to._

_He glanced at Google IRL. It was standing next to his large computer, wires still hooked up to its back. In that moment, Ryan should have seen a machine, a lifeless piece of metal. But he saw salvation. Hope. And he was desperate._

_He hooked wires up to his brain and placed pads around his arms. Frantically, he typed away at his computer, hooking himself up to Google IRL's database. He didn't know what he was doing, but somehow his body was doing everything for him. All he had to do was survive one more minute—just a minute and he'd survive the night._

_Behind Ryan, the door shuddered. Pieces of wood flew into the room, startling him. Ryan kept typing. The loading bar hit 100%, a bright light filled his mind, and the last thing he felt in his body—Ryan Magee's body—was the force of a bullet flying into his chest._

_He was saved._

~***~

"The criminals broke into the room only to find my body, dead, and Google IRL standing over it. They never realized what I had done. The company Google found the photos Matt took and burned them, presumably, and I never found out what happened to Matt afterwards. Looking at him now, though, I guess...I guess they got to him. Slit his throat."

Bing shuddered. "That's disturbing to think about." He gasped. "Wait, you guys worked on a robot? Was I...was I a prototype?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm aware. You don't look like something Google could make. You're too...emotional."

"Ow."

"It was a compliment."

"So how did Anti survive?" Jack said. "How does _anyone_ survive a slitted throat? He should be dead."

Ryan shrugged helplessly. "I hate to say this, but I almost wish he died. I hate to see him like a monster. This isn't the Matt I knew. He did everything for the sake of helping people."

"Well, maybe that's what he thinks he's doing now," Jack suggested gruffly. "In his sick mind, killing the criminals that went after both of you is like justice. As well as the employees at The Veraque."

"Maybe," Ryan muttered. He sighed. "Look at us, figuring things out that should have been said earlier. I shouldn't have kept it to myself."

The muscle in Jack's jaw pulsed, as if suddenly being reminded that Robbie was dead. He stood up suddenly, startling Bing. "Thanks for the talk."

"Uh, where are you going?" Bing said. "Aren't you gonna stay?"

"I just realized something," Jack said, more to himself than to the others. He spoke up. "Everything affiliated with me just gets hurt. First Jameson, then Bing, now Robbie."

"No, that's not how it is—" Bing interrupted.

"I don't want to see you guys get hurt again," Jack said firmly. "I won't let it happen."

"Jack, don't be foolish," Ryan pleaded. "I get that it's my fault this happened, but you can't _not_ need our help. Was this all for nothing?"

"I'll be back," Jack promised. His brow furrowed. "But Antisepticeye is my problem now. Not yours. I'll handle him by myself."

"Jack!" Google and Ryan shouted in unison. Too late. Jack dived through Bing's open window and soared away at an incredible speed. They both wondered if he had ever flown that fast before. He never did.

"Damn it," Bing hissed. "Damn it! What a doofus! We were gonna do this together!"

"He'll come around," Google insisted, trying to lighten the mood. "Death changes people in many ways. I'm sure it won't change him."

"We're gonna topple like dominoes," Bing complained. "Does he think because he's staying away from us, that'll stop Antisepticeye's attacks?"

"Apparently so," Ryan said, bumping in. "Dominoes, indeed."

And if they had to fall, he would rather they all fall down _together_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I wrote this in a day? I was really pumped to write after publishing Robbie's chapter, so as to not lose that burst of angst motivation. Plus, this explanation is something that has been eating at me ever since I introduced Antisepticeye's character and realized I had to flesh him out. And finally, you see what has been setting up in the chapters leading up to this.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you like the story, leave a comment or drop a kudos! I always appreciate those! :D


	44. Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where are you now?"

Sam didn't get many opportunities to roam around the city. They were always by Jack's side, and if not with him, then curled up in his apartment. There were times where Sam managed to slip away and fly around on their own, but they were rare.

Luckily, Sam saw an opening with Google and Bingiplier. They were too focused on the house to notice a small thing like Sam. While the two ex-robots trotted around the first floor of the house, Sam slowly floated towards the broken window. Before they left for good, Sam caught a snippet of the conversation and shuddered. Antisepticeye's name wasn't directly mentioned, but Sam knew they were talking about him.

Of course. Their problems were never going to end, it seemed.

Sam floated near Heartstone Hospital and blinked. They had been here a few times before. Once, when Sean was staking out the hospital for danger, three days after Antisepticeye murdered a bunch of Purg members. And another time...

No. No more dwelling on _that_ for the day.

Sam moved to the next street, a small strip of road that, if Sam followed it down, would lead back to Sean's apartment. There were neon signs advertising various shops and restaurants; the smell of food wafted in the air; nearest to Sam was a Starbucks coffee shop, which was barely occupied by customers. One of them was on his way outside, a coffee cup in his hand.

Sam's eye widened. They looked around, trying to figure out the best place to hide in, when the shop's door opened. The man stepped out and froze in his spot, the coffee's contents rippling like a disturbed lake. Sam didn't have to turn their eye to know they had been spotted.

"W-Whoa, what the fuck," the man said. Sam bolted left near an alley. "Aw, wait! Come—come back!"

The sound of footsteps echoed behind Sam as the eyeball zoomed down the alleyway, never looking back. There was a chain-link fence up ahead, which Sam could easily slip through. "Wait up! I don't want to hurt you!"

Sam stopped in their tracks. Their voice started to sound familiar. Sam had heard this voice before, maybe in the past five months. They whipped around and took a good look at their chaser.

It was a fairly tanned man in his late twenties. He was wearing a gray shirt and black jeans, which made him look more youthful than he should have been—kind of like a teenager fresh out of high school. Lime green hair was tucked under a flat brim hat depicting a red skull. Oh, Sam vaguely recognized him. He was a friend of Sean's—the one that surprised him in his apartment room. Sam had been curious to know who Sean was talking to and peeked their eye out enough to catch a glimpse of the man.

"Hey there," he said, taking slow steps towards Sam. It made the eyeball feel like a bird—subtle movements were the key to befriending them, and if they made quick, jerky movements, then the bird would fly away, startled. "I'm sorry for scaring you. It's—wow, I'm talking to an eye."

Sam nodded, instantly reminded of Sean's first conversation with them. Sam didn't want to tell Sean how guilty they felt that night, for putting such a burden on his shoulders, or for the danger they had suddenly gotten him into. Talking to this man, who resembled Sam's own friend well enough, was enough to bring the feelings back. 

"What—what's your name?" the friend asked.

Sam shook their head wildly and spun around, hoping the man would realize they didn't have a mouth to talk from. Fortunately, he took the hint.

"Man, that's gotta suck," he said sympathetically. "No mouth, huh? Sorry, bro. Are you, um, lost? Where are you from?"

Another shake of the head. Sometimes it got tiring to communicate using body language only. Sam had hoped that with Jameson Jackson's new powers, the tailor would have been able to translate for Sam. Unfortunately, they did not expect the tailor to be in such a bad state.

"Guess you don't know that, either," the man said. "Oh, I'm Chase, if you didn't know. Which you probably didn't." He held out his hand as if asking Sam to shake it, but Sam only backed up, drawing away from him like it was avoiding the plague. Chase cringed a little, his face turning red from embarrassment. Awkward handshakes were the _worst_ —his friend Felix would agree upon that. "What are you doing here so late at night, little eyeball man? Uh...that's not a good name. I'll just call you something human for now. Um, how about Hunter? Yeah, that's a good name. I like Hunter." Chase smiled a little, apparently fond of his naming skills. "That's actually my son's name. I've got two kids—a boy and a girl. They're the best things in my life..."

Chase shook his head and tried to stop his tangent. When he tried to focus back onto the eyeball, he found only empty space in front of him. The weird, alien creature was nowhere to be seen.

"No, that can't be right..." Chase took small steps forward into the alley as if that would make the creature appear again, but there was nothing. Was he imagining things? How could something so _green_ disappear in the blink of an eye? He scratched his head, puzzled, and laughed nervously. "Oh, God. I must be going fucking crazy." He took a sip from his cup of coffee, savoring it. He chuckled afterwards. "Guess this is what happens when I don't have my coffee."

Chase stalked away, but the feeling that he just witnessed something extraordinary did not leave him. Neither did the feeling of disappointment, which he felt as soon as he was left on his own—a missed opportunity.

~***~

Dr. Schneeplestein was fast asleep in the foldable chair, his glasses clipped against his breast pocket. The bruises on his ankles and wrists were fading quickly; just a few hours ago they were purple, and now the bruise was an ugly yellow—a sign that it was healing nicely. It almost matched Jameson's skin, which had not healed completely but were well near it.

Marvin was situated on the small desk next to the Jameson's bed, snoring peacefully underneath the cover of his arms. His cat mask was on the windowsill to his right, and he had discarded his cape sometime during the night and hung it off the IV rack.

It was nearly two in the morning when Jameson woke up.

Marvin's eyes snapped open in an instant since he was the closest. There was a wailing in his ears—no, his head—that sounded vaguely like Jameson. As soon as he looked left, Jameson's eyes were wide open with terror and panic, his whole body shaking and trying to sit up.

"Schneep!" Marvin shouted over to the doctor. He cringed, feeling a bolt of pain shoot through his head again. He clutched his face in a desperate attempt to clear it. Disturbing images started to pop up in his head—tongues, ropes, string, and blood; worst of all, Marvin saw an image of a dark shadow approaching him, his eyes sparking to life with an explosion of green energy. It almost felt _real_ , like he was living a nightmare.

 _Snap out of it,_ he told himself. _They're just images..._

When Marvin's vision cleared, the German doctor was just waking up. Thoroughly startled, he yelped and tried to stand up, only to lose his balance and fall off his chair. He didn't even hit the ground before he, too, cried out and clutched his head in pain.

"Jameson," Marvin tried to say, but his voice failed. The tailor's eyes latched onto him like a lifeline, and Marvin felt a voice calling out to him, pleading to save him. Marvin swallowed hard. The visions remained in his head, yet they lessened as he took a step closer to Jameson. "Bud, it's okay. Everything's fine."

Jameson opened his mouth and immediately closed it. Whatever made him change his mind clearly spooked him, because another wave of bloody images overwhelmed Marvin and Dr. Schneeplestein. It took all of Marvin's willpower to remain standing.

"Jameson, you're safe here," Marvin told him. "You're—you're gonna be okay."

And then he was not in the hospital anymore. He was just...suddenly somewhere else. His eyes were adjusting to the new place, but as his vision cleared like fog dispersing, he recognized his surroundings. Dress Dapper! was looming in front of him. His magician's box was leaned against the side of the building. Inside the store, it was dark—Marvin couldn't make out any shapes.

He glanced around. What should've been city buildings and apartments was complete nothingness, just an endless void of white. Yet the path to Dress Dapper! was right in front of him. Marvin was standing on the first step.

Reluctantly, he strode forward until he came across the door. The sign was flipped to CLOSED. He frowned and tried to open the door. It was jammed.

Then: _Marvin?_

The voice echoed around him, reverberating through the emptiness. Although Jameson's voice boomed, it was tinged with concern. Marvin's name was called out once more, this time from inside the shop.

"Jameson?" he called back. He set his eyes on the door and furrowed his brows. Distantly, he heard crashes inside—the sound of a struggle. Marvin's heart jumped. "I'm coming!"

He raised his foot and kicked the door down with a strength he never thought he had. At the back of the shop, Jameson was backing up against a wall. A shadow of a man was advancing on him, a knife gripped in his right hand.

Marvin snapped. He screamed and charged at the figure, and just as it turned to notice him, Marvin hooked his arms around his torso and tackled him into the ground with a hard crunch. The figure raised his knife—Marvin swatted it away like a pesky fly and kept the man pinned, his anger funneling into his fists. He pummeled the figure until the shadows literally _fell_ off of him, until the figure was just a man with a bloody neck and a devil's smile. But the smile had faded at the sight of Marvin. The magician's chest was heaving, and his eyes were blazing with a fire he couldn't control—a fire he didn't want to control. Marvin let the demon have it—he poured his strength into every punch and made sure he would feel it. This was for his friend. It was payback.

The demon couldn't even fight back. He was nothing without a knife and his shadows. Not against Marvin's will. And when the demon was _pleading_ with him, asking for mercy, Marvin found the knife in his hands. Somewhere inside of him, he also found the courage to end it.

When Marvin looked up from the mess, his anger had subsided enough to realize Jameson was still pressed against the wall. His eyes were wild.

Marvin stood up, let the knife slip from his hands. He locked eyes with Jameson and felt the guilt filling up inside of him—shit, what did he just do? Did he just kill a man?

Still, Jameson was not looking at him like he was a monster. His features had relaxed, and his eyes softened—for a moment, it almost felt like this was the Jameson he knew before the crisis. A moment later, Jameson's expression changed into sorrow. His eyes fell to the ground, before they lifted back to Marvin with unease. Slowly, he opened his mouth.

It took Marvin a moment to realize Jameson's tongue. There was nothing there. His tongue was cleanly cut off. And then it took Marvin another moment to connect the dots—Jameson's quietness, his nervousness when he opened his mouth partway at the hospital.

Did he really think Marvin would judge him?

Marvin strode towards Jameson. Just as the man took a step back, Marvin didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around the tailor and give him the biggest hug possible. Jameson's body froze up in an instant, petrified.

"Everything's gonna be all right," Marvin promised. "I've got you."

Jameson melted into the warm embrace. He didn't hug Marvin back, not that Marvin blamed him. Jameson buried his face into the magician's shoulder, his body wracking with quiet sobs.

When Marvin next opened his eyes, he found himself back at the hospital. His hand was grasping Jameson's in a tight grip, and the tailor himself was blinking furiously.

"What just happened?" Dr. Schneeplestein said loudly, picking himself off the floor. He noticed Jameson's calm disposition, and Marvin's teary eyes. "Are—are you okay?"

"Everything's fine," Marvin announced firmly. He didn't have to look at Jameson to show he was directing his words at him. "We're gonna be all right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late of an update (tho I have never used a schedule to begin with)! This year I'm trying out Inktober for the first time, so it's been my main focus! Also, I'm in an AP class for school, which means it's killing me slowly with the work load. However, I've got something veeeeeeery special, which I plan on posting on October 10th! ;)))
> 
> Well, there might be one update before then. bUT! October 10th is a goal.
> 
> So, assuming everything goes to plan, expect fun times ahead!
> 
> P.S. This chapter might have been a little confusing. Just say the word and I'll explain it the best I can.


	45. S͢ay͟ ̶Goo̕db̕y͡e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Be advised when reading this chapter as it contains blood and light gore. Read with caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence. Please read with caution.
> 
> With all that out of the way, I do hope you'll enjoy this one
> 
> Have fun! :D

They say a lot can change in a year, but a lot of shit went down in the past couple of months. First with the powers, then an android and a robot, then the creepy demon, and now...Jack didn't know what was going to come next.

About a week after Robbie died, Signe arrived at Sean's floor in a somber mood. Their relationship—or what it could have been—had become increasingly more awkward because of how their first date ended. They couldn't think about how well it went without thinking about the blood on Robbie's floor, or the red and blue police lights. Not even the fact that Antisepticeye was so close to where they lived—it was so personal. Imagine if he wasn't there for Robbie, if he had arrived at the apartment searching for Jack instead...

Sean let Signe inside and made her a cup of coffee. As they sat down at his coffee table, it took Signe a couple of minutes to find her words. Sean was never really the patient type, but he sipped his coffee to pass the unbearable silence.

Finally, she sighed. "The police got back in touch with me. Robbie's investigation is still ongoing, but it's being handled privately. And the man who...you know..."

Sean nodded.

"I think it's best that nobody knows what he was," Signe finished. "I just wish I could forget everything about that night." She set her mug on the table and rubbed her eyes. "Nothing makes sense. Robbie's last words...what did they mean? They were so cryptic..."

 _I wish I could tell you,_ Sean thought bitterly. _But look where that got Robbie._

"I'm-I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me about the man and his powers," Sean managed. Signe bit her lip. "I'm also glad that you're okay, too. He could've killed you, too."

"Yeah, I don't know why he didn't," Signe said, wiping her nose. "Anyway, they also told me that they couldn't find any of Robbie's family. We were probably the few who knew him well enough."

Sean sucked in a breath. He always knew Robbie wasn't a social guy, but he kind of expected him to have family outside of Capo City. Living alone in an apartment didn't necessarily mean he _wouldn't_ have family. Sean lived by himself yet his family were all back in Ireland. "Damn...What about the funeral? Where will his body—?"

"Um, that's actually why I wanted to speak with you," Signe said nervously. "Since he doesn't have anyone to remember him...I wanted to plan a funeral. I spoke with the proper authorities; they said it's allowed because there's no close family and social services doesn't want to foot a bill. So...will you help me?"

"Of course," Sean said in a heartbeat. "I'll do everything I can."

~***~

Jack finally summoned the courage to visit Heartstone Hospital a day later. He was on edge the whole way there, and he made sure to fly extra high in case Antisepticeye decided to follow him. As much as he wanted to punch the guy's teeth in, he couldn't afford to do it at the hospital.

He never gave Marvin or Dr. Schneeplestein his burner phone number, so the last time he heard from them was when they joked about his first date. He wondered if Jameson ever woke up, and if so, what happened afterwards? Jack was sure the tailor had some form of telepathy. It was incredibly strong, too. He hoped the two men hadn't received the worst of it.

Jack peeked his head around the windows until he found him. Jameson Jackson had finally been changed out of his old clothes and into a hospital gown. He was relaxed in the hospital bed, his hands gesturing wildly at Marvin, who sat beside him and nodded along. Through the window, Jack spotted a bit of Dr. Schneeplestein's coat near the door. He must've just entered the room.

Jameson's eyes flitted to Jack at the window. He opened his mouth with delight and pointed at him. Marvin's head turned around. He raised his eyebrows and opened the window.

"Get inside, you weirdo," Marvin said, though his words didn't hold any malice. "Don't you know it's rude to stalk patients right at their window?"

Jack flinched. That was what Antisepticeye did when he attacked the criminals at the hospital. "I can't come in. Sorry."

"Is that Jack?" Dr. Schneeplestein's voice called. The German doctor appeared beside Marvin a second later. "Welcome back. Why can't you enter? I am sure Jameson would like to—ah—speak with you."

Jack shook his head. "Really can't. I'm only here to make sure Jameson is doing okay."

 _"I am more than fine,"_ came a voice from inside his head. Jack recognized it as Jameson's, though the memory of how he knew it was sour. _"Your suit is damaged. I shall repair it as soon as I'm out of this hospital."_

"Don't worry about the suit. Uh, did you guys hear him, too?" Jack said, checking to see if Jameson was only communicating with him or the group. He imagined what it would've been like if they couldn't. Fortunately, the two men nodded. "Got it. And why is Jameson talking inside my head and not aloud?"

Dr. Schneeplestein paled considerably. Marvin shifted his weight. Jack's heart stopped. "What...what's wrong? Did something happen...?"

Jameson caught Jack's attention by waving his hand at him. _"Look closely."_ He opened his mouth wide like he was at the dentist, revealing pearly white teeth and a t...wait. Where was his tongue...?

 _"Do not blame yourself,"_ Jameson suddenly said, bringing Jack back to reality. His voice was comforting, instantly soothing Jack—was that a side effect of his power, or just his nature? _"I can feel your guilt—please do not worry for me. I wanted to make the suit of my own will, and I fully accepted the repercussions that had come with it. The night I sent you the suit, the man had approached me in the shop. When I refused to cooperate, he...well..."_ Jameson pointed at his mouth again, thankfully with it closed. Jack didn't want to see it again and be reminded of his consequences.

 _"He took me to a basement and fastened me to strings like a puppet. Some days he would experiment on me, to test the limits of my pain tolerance. Other days he'd tie more strings around my limbs until I couldn't feel them. He only released strings if he noticed I was turning purple."_ Jameson shuddered and closed his eyes, unable to continue. Marvin immediately moved to his side and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Jack's throat was dry. How could someone go through so much and come out sane? Jameson didn't deserve what he got. He was just a kind soul who sang for people, not a puppet for experimenting. Jack frowned. "Experimenting...why do you think he experimented on you?"

Jameson touched his face gingerly and trailed his finger under his eye, stopping when he reached his mouth. Jack couldn't see if there were any scars on his face; he didn't think so, since Schneeplestein's healing touch was quite a miracle worker. _"He was a cruel person, but he was not entirely crazy. I suppose a part of him needed me for something important. Perhaps a sacrifice to the devil?"_ Jameson smiled at his joke. _"I believe it was exactly as he said—I was intended to be a puppet."_

"Does that make sense or mean anything?" Marvin asked Jack.

"No, not that I can think of," Jack said. "As far as I knew, Antisepticeye was a killer—he didn't take hostages. A puppet, though...?"

 _That's kind of fucked,_ Jack finished in his mind.

 _Indeed,_ Jameson agreed. _Although, it was more of a marionette._

At Jameson's (intrusive) comment, something clicked inside Jack's mind, and he started to piece together the story. The machine he saw in the house. Antisepticeye's fascination—and personal connection—with Google IRL and Ryan Magee. His need for Jameson as a marionette. "I have to go," he announced suddenly.

"Not this shit again—" Dr. Schneeplestein started.

Jack pushed off from the window and took off into the air.

Jameson's face fell. _"He has his heart in the right place, but his insistency on independence will be his fall from grace."_

"He wasn't like this last week," Marvin muttered. "He was so open about things. Told Schneep and I everything."

"Perhaps something has changed within him," Dr. Schneeplestein assumed. "Or something has made him question whether it was even a good idea to include us on his business."

"Do you think he'll be fine?" Marvin asked.

 _"Despite everything, I believe so, yes,"_ Jameson said brightly.

"Of course you would say that, you only just met him," Dr. Schneeplestein retorted. "Marvin, do what you did earlier—follow that motherfucker and make sure I do not have to haul another body to the morgue like last week."

~***~

Despite his recent belief that he was endangering the people around him, Jack kept his partnership with the Jim Twins.

For starters, he still needed the money. Working for Signe wasn't always well-paying, especially if the apartment went an entire week without things in need of fixing, like leaking pipes or cable boxes. Signe paid him for getting the power back on That Night, but it wouldn't have lasted him two weeks, so the Jim Twins was his only other option for earning income.

Plus, it wasn't even a hard job. The Jim Twins didn't ask Jack personal questions. Most of their conversations were professional (as professional as the Jim Twins could be).

They finally met up at the same park on the outskirts of Capo City. As they sat around a bench, Jack explained the recent Antisepticeye activity in Capo City—leaving out Jameson's rescue from his captivity. They were understanding when Jack asked them to withhold the information for now.

"I don't want to endanger your lives, too," Jack elaborated. "If Antisepticeye sees you wrote an article about it, he'll come for you. Trust me, that's the last thing you want."

"You sound like you speak from experience," Cameraman Jim assumed. He watched Jack's face drop. "Oh, shit. Sorry. Are you okay?"

"It wasn't me that he attacked," Jack said, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. "But...it didn't end well."

"Right, got it," Cameraman Jim said, nodding along with his brother. "We'll just keep all of these stories for later use. You know, when you catch him."

"You _will_ catch him, right?" Reporter Jim asked. His tone was more curious than skeptical, but a muscle in Jack's jaw pulsed.

"Absolutely. I've got a bone to pick with that demon."

~***~

That night, Jack set out for the old house.

He made preparations before he left, of course. His suit was ripped down the front, so Jack grabbed a roll of tape and plastered it to his chest and stomach, hoping that would help somewhat. He stretched well—Robbie always told him it was important to stretch so he didn't hurt himself in the field. Sam was bouncing in the air near him, eager to head outside—Jack knew he didn't give Sam enough space to roam around, and he felt ashamed for not taking responsibility.

"Get ready, Sam," Jack said soberly. Sam's bouncing stopped. "We're going back to Antisepticeye's house."

Sam's eye widened, but Jack didn't know if it was from fear or excitement. His puzzlement was answered a second later when Sam hid inside their bed tent.

"There's no need to feel scared, buddy," Jack assured them. "I can't do this without you. If we strike now, we can stop whatever he's planning. C'mon..."

It took a long time to coax Sam out of their bed, but eventually, they were willing to follow Jack back to the house. It was dark out, something Jack regretted instantly. That gave Antisepticeye an advantage with his shadows. Still, Jack couldn't wait another day for sunlight and risk letting Antisepticeye move further with his plans.

Heartstone Hospital was only a couple blocks away, after all. An easy target for a large scale attack by Antisepticeye.

As soon as Jack rounded into the three-house neighborhood, he spotted the demon in the center of the street. The streetlights flickered weakly. At least Jack didn't have to face him in total darkness.

"Didn't think I'd be waiting, did you?" Antisepticeye called to him. He ran his finger across his knife, testing its sharpness. "After what I did to your precious _friend_ , I figured you'd show up sooner or later."

Sam took shelter in Jack's cowl. It was genius, Jack thought. Antisepticeye was only expecting Jack, not Sam. He took cautious steps towards the street, eyeing the demon down.

"Matt Watson," Jack spat. Antisepticeye snarled at his words. "The co-creator of Google IRL. Ryan Magee's friend."

"'Friend'," Antisepticeye repeated mockingly. "You're a naive hero. Matt Watson and Ryan Magee are _dead_. If Ryan hadn't abandoned me when the Purgs came—"

"The Purgs," Jack cut in. "That's why you killed them all—the explosion and the hospital. And the attack on The Veraque. You wanted revenge for what they did to you!"

"And I _got it_ ," Antisepticeye snapped. He lowered his knife. "You sound a little hypocritical, _hero_. Aren't you here for the same thing? Rev̸e̶n͏g͟e̛?̷"

"I'm not here for that," Jack said, his voice quivering. God, he couldn't even convince himself he was there for the right reasons. "I'm here to end this."

"No, you're not," Antisepticeye said flatly. "You wouldn't have _stopped_ in the middle of the street if you wanted that." He smiled, flashing sharp incisors. "You wanna know my endgame. Why I haven't s҉to̷pp͢͠e̕͡d̴ after I got my oh-so-s̵weȩţ revenge."

"Humor me," Jack growled. "Why did you keep Ja—the tailor alive?"

"He was nothing but a _puppet_ ," Antisepticeye answered. "Just a plaything, my first experiment. I'm sure you've seen my second floor—the one with that neat little machine. It's gone now, of course, but you remember it, right?"

Yes, Jack recalled the memory. It was a weird double helix with wires coming out of it, though it had slipped his mind when he saw it. It must've slipped Google and Bing's mind, too, when they checked the house afterwards. "What does the machine do?"

"You know what it does," Antisepticeye said. "In the back of your foolish mind. You know why my interests expand towards Google IRL, especially when de̛ar̡ Ryan placed himself into that machine."

Jack shook his head. "You can't be serious. That's—that's fucking stupid. You can't—"

"But I can," Anti said. He cocked his head to the side. "Leon was so nice to give me a piece of my machine. And I just need one last thing to make it happen." He raised his knife, pointed it at Jack's shoulder. "Does your _pet_ want to say a few words?"

The way Anti said it made Jack's hairs stand on end. Inside his cowl, he felt Sam shift around, unsettled. "It's just me."

"Idiot," Anti spat. "I can sense the power coming from your hood." He laughed. "How can I not? It's the same power coming from _me_."

Jack's hands clenched into fists. His spine straightened up. _"What?"_

Anti's lips curled into a haunting smile. "Oh, _please_. You didn't think I got these powers randomly, did you?"

"I..."

"For a hero, you're not very keen," Anti tutted. He pointed a long, bony finger at Sam, who had finally emerged out from behind Jack's cowl, only to freeze up in the air at the sight of Anti. "That little eyeball is such a special thing. I was lucky enough to get a _taste_ of its power."

"Sam would _never_ give it to someone like you!" Jack said.

"Maybe _so_. I'd like to think it didn't matter, anyway." Antisepticeye cackled to himself. "That eyeball doesn't give a _damn_ about who it gives powers to! It didn't matter when I got the powers, and it didn't matter when you got yours!" He squinted at Jack. "I can see it in your eyes. Pride, confidence—it's all in your head. You probably believe that it _chose_ you because it believed in you, don't you? That you could make a dif̷fe͠r͟e҉nc͞e̢?" As Antisepticeye laughed, parts of his body melted into shadow, then formed back into a solid. "Naive as ever, Jackaboy. It was pure luck that you got the powers. You. Didn't. Earn. Them."

"You think I'm just gonna take your word? You're a fucking psycho!"

"Aww, you're hurt. But who said you needed to take mine? Look at your little pet's eye and see for yourself."

Worriedly, Jack turned to face Sam. The eyeball was pointedly glaring at the ground. "Sam...?"

But Sam didn't meet his gaze. They couldn't. _Couldn't_ , because they couldn't bear to see the spark of realization in Jack's eyes.

"Sam, how could you give him that power?" Jack asked in a hollow voice. Sam shook their head frantically.

"Don't forget that last bit of what I said. S̵ąm, was it?" He put a finger to his chin and tapped it thoughtfully. "Sammy, there, did you give Jack his silly little superpowers because you _truly_ believed he could make a difference in the world? Or was it because you needed someone to carry the burden of the problems that you caused? Someone _nobody_ would miss if they failed?"

Sam flinched. They quivered in the air, refusing to look at either of the two men.

Just like that, Jack's heart shattered. When he got those powers, it was Sam who had convinced him he could believe in himself and use them for good. Sam was the one who always motivated him into being the hero, to do the right thing. But Sam didn't do it because he believed in Jack. Jack was just a scapegoat, something Sam could hide behind and use to get rid of a problem they made.

"If I were you, I'd just dump it," Anti suggested with a laugh. "There's no point in having it around if it won't be a good pet."

"Shut up!" Jack roared. His mind was too clouded with anger to realize what he was doing, but a second later he was soaring towards Antisepticeye, fists raised.

Anti merely grinned and swerved out of the way. Before Jack could turn around, Anti kicked his foot into his chest. Jack tumbled back, the breath knocked out of his lungs. He barely rolled out of the way as Anti's knife slashed down in his previous spot.

Sam rushed towards Anti with blinding speed while Jack got up. The eyeball wrapped his tail around Anti's wrist and pulled hard. The knife slipped out of his hand. With an annoyed hiss, Anti squeezed Sam's body in his other fist and flung them off like a leech. They hurled through the air like a baseball and slammed into one of the streetlights.

"Sam!" Jack cried. He swore in Irish and lunged at Anti. He clipped him across the face—Anti fell back—and struck the demon in the neck, right where his bloody slit was. Antisepticeye howled and clutched his neck in pain.

"Bastard!" he yelled, but his remark was shortlived. Jack threw himself back at Anti and jabbed at him with his fists, forcing him to either retaliate without the knife or retreat. Jack slung his fist, hoping to hit his cheek, but he passed through empty air.

 _Ah, fuck,_ Jack thought.

Anti's voice came from behind him. "Surprise!"

The hairs on his neck stood up. Jack turned just in time to see a knife arcing down. He yelped and rolled to his left. Anti's laughs were getting more maniacal as they tusseled. He was fast with his hands; it was a wonder Jack was still up. Fighting Antisepticeye on more than one occasion probably saved his life—he knew enough about the demon's fighting style to swerve out of harm's way, yet he couldn't do it forever. Anti was tiring out, but Jack was nearing his limits. In a battle of endurance, he was not due to win. He needed a plan.

Where was Sam?

There! The eye was waiting behind Antisepticeye's form, just out of sight to the both of them. For a brief moment, they made eye contact. Jack's nod went unnoticed by his opponent.

"Exhausted?" Anti jeered. The hero's eyes flicked back to the fight. He evaded Anti's swipe by ducking and jumped back, using his flight to carry him far away from him.

Antisepticeye scowled from afar. His hand tightened on his knife. "Where do you think you're _going_?"

Jack smiled. He took his time to catch his breath, knowing that Anti would wait for his response. "Nowhere. Just needed to tag out for a little."

Antisepticeye growled. Then his body arched back and he was thrown forward towards Jack, who spun around and used the momentum to plant a kick into Anti's side. The demon careened back ten meters, skidding into the ground. Where Antisepticeye previously stood, Sam was hovering above, looking furious with the demon.

Antisepticeye huffed, dusting himself off. "You know, I should have sliced you into ribbons earlier. So _many_ missed opportunities!"

"If you weren't such a coward, maybe you would have done it," Jack shot back. "I guess I'm not the weak one here."

Those were the wrong words to say. Jack wanted to strike a sore spot, but he hit something much more than that. He had seen Antisepticeye's eyes glow green numerous times, but they were always like foxfire. Now, as Antisepticeye stood tall, his eyes had ignited like a bonfire, burning with unadulterated rage, making it almost painful to look at his eyes. A wave of fear slammed into Jack. There was no logic behind it, either: it was as if his body was being overwhelmed with panic. Instinctively, he stumbled back, forgetting his feet.

It all happened in a blur. Antisepticeye's cackle echoed. In an instant, he was rushing past Sam. HIs knife was raised, its target dead ahead.

Jack didn't dodge in time. His feet were too slow. Antisepticeye stopped just before he reached Jack and swished his knife through the air like a sword. As the streetlights shook violently, threatening to teeter to the side, a resounding flurry of wind knocked into Jack and hurled him through the air. Jack's head slammed into the streetlight and crumpled beneath it. His vision went white. The streetlight groaned and toppled over, battering into the sidewalk, the glass from the light splintering into shards. A few collided with Jack's skin, creating cuts no bigger than his pinky finger.

Sam raced forward, but Antisepticeye was naturally faster. He shrieked with delight and thrust his knife into Jack, burying it deep into his chest.

Jack's breath hitched. His face immediately drained of color, and his limbs were too heavy to move. Blood started to pile in his throat, yet he didn't feel the pain—at least, not then. The shock .

"Guess you were wrong," Anti whispered in his ear. He ripped the knife from Jack's chest with a sickening _shink!_

Jack's head exploded. Every part of his body was being flame-broiled. The shock of the knife had left him far too early, and now his heart was beating fast, his breath hitched. Weakly, he tried move his head, but a burst of agony ripped through him, leaving him spluttering. 

Antisepticeye didn't hesitate. He pressed the knife against Jack's throat and yanked the hero up by his cowl, turning to face Sam. The eyeball was only ten feet from them, staring at Jack with a wide eye. "Ah, ah, ah, pet. We're gonna make a little _deal_." He dug the knife deeper into Jack, drawing blood. Jack winced and opened his mouth to say something, but blood trickled from it like a waterfall. "I'll spare his pathetic life in exchange for yours. You'll come with me willingly. I'll leave him in one piece."

"Don't—" Jack closed his eyes, trying to focus his thoughts into warning Sam. "Run—!"

"He doesn't have all day," Anti laughed, lowering the knife. For a split second, Jack sighed in relief, but Anti shifted the knife in his hand and plunged it into Jack's stomach, somewhere in his rib cage. The blade tore through his skin like cutting cheese, eliciting a guttural scream from Jack. When Anti raised the knife back to his throat, blood gushed onto the pavement. "Do we have a deal?"

Sam jumped and nodded.

Anti grinned. "I thought so. Come here, my p̶e̶t̴."

Sam sulked forward. Anti held out his palm, which Sam plopped themselves into.

He chuckled. The green light in his eyes faded. "I̵d̴i̵o̷t̶s̶. S͢ay͟ ̶goo̕db̕y͡e." In one motion, Anti sliced the knife into Jack's throat and threw his body to the ground. Just as Sam tried to flee, Anti carved his knife upwards. WIth a squishy noise, something long and green clipped off and disintegrated in the air. Sam dropped back into Anti's palm, their tail—the only thing that kept them airborne—gone.

Jack tried to shout, but his neck was spilling blood onto his chest, making it almost impossible to speak. He was shocked it didn't instantly kill him, but that wasn't any comfort when he realized how much blood he was losing. There was already a pool forming beneath him, and his vision was swimming with tears. He could only watch as Anti clenched his fist tight, trapping Sam inside.

"Nice doing business with you, _hero_ ," Antisepticeye said smugly. His body melted into shadows and slipped away. As soon as Sam disappeared, the blue mask on Jack's face melted off, his face uncovered.

 _Don't go like this, Jack_ , he thought, willing himself to move. _Save Sam...save Sam...get up!_

He was bleeding out. He was in pain. Jack was going to die here if he couldn't help it.

He closed his eyes and managed to get back onto his knees. Jack put one foot on the ground and screamed again, feeling the skin in his stomach tear. He stood up, but he hunched over, unable to keep his back straight. Jack slowly put one foot in front of the other. He just needed to take it slow. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. That's all that mattered.

He made it five feet before his body went completely numb, giving out on him. His knees buckled. Jack toppled over onto his back, his body shaking the ground. The sweat, blood, and tears had stained his suit—a suit he didn't deserve. He was cold—or was he hot? The pain had become so unbearable that it almost felt peaceful.

His eyes fluttered shut.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but he was still in the same spot on the damned street—he could feel the small rocks digging into his back.

There were footsteps nearing him. "Jack!"

 _Robbie?_ Jack thought, dazed. No, it couldn't have been Robbie. Robbie was dead. Jack was responsible for that.

The footsteps got faster. Finally, they stopped next to him. Silence. Then a gasp.

"Sean!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to him. Happy birthday to him. Happy birthday, dear Anti. Happy birthday to him.
> 
> ~***~
> 
> A portion of this chapter was written all the way back in May, and I'm just really happy to have finally gotten to the chapter where I can incorporate it in! Thanks for reading this! More to come for sure :)
> 
> ANd hmmm, there is so much to pick out from this chapter! Many info, many shocks, many questions!


	46. Behind the Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Contains bloody descriptions and gore again. Please be advised and read on with caution.

Chase found himself going for late night walks more often. It started ever since he got back from Tahiti. He thought it was because of his YouTube career that he needed it. His upload schedule had finally fixed itself, though he had to make a video explaining that he'd post them an hour later than what they originally went up at. The response was (as expected) encouraging.

His kids were asleep at this hour, too, so he had nothing to worry about, and Stacy wasn't a night owl. It was only Chase, his thoughts, and the occasional passerby that welcomed him in the late hours.

It seemed like strolls would get boring after a while. Eventually, everyone runs out of things to think about, don't they? Chase didn't. His mind was a well-oiled machine. It didn't stop working, _ever_. He was constantly jumping from one train of thought to the next. Every time he finished a thought, ten more popped up like a mind hydra of tangents.

Tonight, it was about the green eyeball he saw.

Like, it was weird enough seeing a superhero in Capo City. Surprisingly, nothing drastic had happened because of that—no arrest warrants for Jack, no crazy villains rising up to challenge him. Now, having confirmation that there was more than meets the eye (ha), it was enough to send his mind spiraling with absurd wonderings.

Chase skipped over a crack in the sidewalk. Didn't that mean there could've been other people with powers running around the world? Were they just all aliens who wanted to live in Capo City (yeah, that was his worst one yet)? The eyeball could've been an alien, though. It definitely _looked_ like one. There weren't any animals like that on Earth, anyway. Maybe a science experiment gone wrong? Why had this only popped up when he was in freaking _Tahiti_?

 _My biggest regret,_ he thought jokingly, shaking his head.

Just as he hit an intersection, he felt a sliver of wind press against his right ear. It could've been a stray gust blowing past—it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary in Capo City, what with their cold, nighttime weather. Somehow, Chase knew better. How? No idea, only that it was not a natural gust of wind.

Chase glanced back at the intersection. There were no cars or joggers tonight, but the traffic lights didn't rely on cars or people to flash. Chase took a breath. Should he wander away from his normal route and explore? He was at the end of his destination; the intersection was where he turned back and walked home. If he left now, he'd make it back before it hit ten o'clock.

Not that the kids or Stacy would be up to welcome him, anyway.

Ugh, but he couldn't make up his mind. If he gave it a second thought, he concluded that _maybe_ it was a normal wind. He was getting antsy because he was thinking about the unnatural phenomena in Capo City. Besides, if it turned out to be nothing mystical, there was a chance that it was something normal, like a mugging in process—the last thing Chase wanted was to get shot while exploring at night.

Still.

Chase was a curious guy. His strong interests were what got him into his YouTube career. Plus, what did he have to lose? A few minutes he could've spent getting back to his house? How boring. He was never one to pass up an opportunity. Why stop now?

He grinned and sprinted down the right street.

~***~

Marvin was sick of running after people.

In Jameson's case, he was fine. That was extremely important.

He guessed what he really meant was he was sick of running after _Jack_. And he'd only done it twice.

First, it was when Jack told him he'd be checking out Jameson's last known spot. He had to trail the superhero back to an apartment and all the way to the house—and Jack was a speedy little shit. Today, Marvin was chasing after him, hoping to convince Jack not to go it alone—and also in case he did something incredibly stupid, which was likely.

Unfortunately, Jack had learned from Marvin's tricks the first time. As soon as Marvin got out of the hospital to follow him, Jack was nearly out of sight. The magician ran down several streets in a desperate attempt to keep up with him, until he lost him by a fucking Starbucks when he collided into another person. She toppled over.

"Sorry!" he shouted without looking at the woman. He squinted hard. Jack's tiny speck disappeared. "Fuck."

"Er, don't worry about it," the woman said stiffly.

"'Kay," Marvin said, breaking into a sprint in that direction, though it took him another few blocks to realize _hell, Jack was too far away to try_.

Marvin wondered what Dr. Schneeplestein would say to him then. He'd probably be scolded until his ears bled. Or probably not, since the doctor had been nothing but kind to Marvin and Jameson ever since they appeared in the hospital.

He spent the next few hours rested on an apartment roof, staring at the sky. How did he get up there? Well, it involved a little bit of illegal activity, but he hoped that he was high enough that he would be able to spot Jack in a few miles radius (and high enough that nobody would call the cops on him). So far, only pigeons occupied the sky.

"Damn it," he complained. "Where the fuck would Jack even be? What do superheroes even _do_?"

Would Jack be running around on the streets, beating up petty criminals? Or would he be waiting near a police radio for signs of trouble? Did Jack even have a police radio?

Maybe Marvin should start a small fight so Jack would flock to him. But how? And could he afford the risk?

He shook his head. No. He had enough trouble with the police as it was.

 _Where the fuck are you tonight, Jackaboy?_ Marvin wondered. _If I were a reckless hero who could do anything, where would I go?_

Heck, he didn't even have to put himself into Jack's shoes. Where would _Marvin_ go?

"I'd beat the snot out of Antisepticeye," he mumbled angrily, getting up from his spot. He dusted himself off and shifted his cat mask over his eyes. If he was right about his guess, that couldn't have been good news.

But Marvin was always right, so he darted towards Heartstone Hospital. After all, the house of strings was not too far from it.

~***~

Chase ended up in a cul-de-sac. He spent way too much time searching for nothing when he finally stumbled upon it.

The first thing that popped out was the broken streetlights. All three were shut off, covering the neighborhood in a chilling darkness. One of them was toppled over, like a huge storm had ripped it out of the ground and flattened it.

Then, in the middle of the street, Chase spotted them. They were on their back, lying sprawled on the asphalt—from his position, Chase almost thought it looked like he was stargazing. But the desolation of the street gave him all the details.

"Jack!" Chase shouted. He had been trying to find the superhero all this time, to get him on camera. It was a sick sense of irony. Only now, in a moment of crisis and without a camera, would Chase meet the man. But he didn't care about his stupid vlogs anymore. Not like this.

The blood became apparent as Chase entered the middle of the street. There was a long trail stretching from the streetlight to the hero's body; in the darkness, the blood was almost like puddles of rain. Jack's cowl was slung off, revealing messy green hair. And when Chase moved to his side, Jack's face was not covered by his iconic blue mask.

He gasped. The hero's face was unmistakable. Chase couldn't _not_ recognize it.

He couldn't _not_ recognize his best friend's face.

"Sean!" he screamed.

His friend didn't answer, didn't stir. His hands were specked with blood, his face in a tight expression. His neck was sliced open. Chase shook him roughly, praying to any god that it would wake up Sean. It didn't.

"No, no, don't die on me," Chase whispered. "Don't—not like this."

~***~

There was someone in the street when he got there, crouched in the middle of the street. The streetlights around him were toppled over and beaten in.

Immediately, Marvin's back went rigid. He dashed forward. "HEY!"

The man on the ground jumped at the sound of his voice. He whipped his head around to look at Marvin with wide eyes.

"Help me!" he pleaded, shifting his weight to the side. He revealed a body on the ground—Jack.

Marvin sucked in a breath. Fuck. He was too late to realize where Jack had gone—oh fuck, oh fuck. Hurriedly, he pushed the man aside and assessed Jack. He was breathing lightly, like every breath took all of his energy, but he was—undoubtedly—alive.

Thank fuck for that.

"What happened?" Marvin demanded without looking at the man.

"I don't know, I just got here," the man said quickly. "Are you—how did you get here?"

"Followed him," Marvin said. He grimaced when he noticed the blood covering Jack's chest. "Goddamnit. 'Kay, you're gonna help me carry him to the hospital. It's near here. Fuck, don't lift him yet. Count of three."

The man flinched. "Sorry."

"Aight," Marvin breathed, hooking his arms underneath Jack's armpits. "One, two, three—"

Together, they grunted and lifted Jack up by his limbs, shuffling towards the hospital. They made quick paces, never once pausing for fear that Jack would be gone too soon. By luck, the streets were void of people, allowing them to jaywalk all they wanted, even running through the red lights.

Jack's body was unnaturally light, but it became harder to carry him as time passed. Marvin's arms were burning, and he imagined the man across from him was in the same position as him, though neither of them were voicing their agony. Sweat beaded their faces, but at last, the three of them had made it to the parking lot of Heartstone Hospital.

Jack's mouth parted open—whether because they jostled him too hard, or because he was finally gaining consciousness, they didn't know. Marvin heard a faint "Raaahhhb" before Jack's mouth went slack again, a trickle of blood escaping from the corners.

Marvin bit his lip. It would take them too long to get Jack into the hospital the normal way. He needed Dr. Schneeplestein. The only doctor he could trust.

But how to get his attention?

While they shuffled closer to the entrance, Marvin reached out with his mind, hoping Jameson's telepathy power was like a radio signal—could he pick up other people's thoughts from more than ten feet away? He closed his eyes and thought, _Jameson! Jameson! Are you here?_

There was silence, but something in the back of Marvin's mind had brushed against something else, sparking him up with hope. _Look, I need Schneep down here now! Jack's back, he's not doing too good! Get Schneep down here!_

"We need to cover his face," the man across him suggested nervously. He grunted. "Se—Jack's identity needs to remain a secret to the public—"

The doors to Heartstone Hospital burst open, which didn't sound good because they were made of glass. Marvin almost whooped, recognizing the German doctor. He was wearing his lab coat as usual, and his face was stoic, if not serious. His eyes darted off of Marvin and onto the mysterious stranger with him.

"Who is that?" Dr. Schneeplestein barked.

"I'm a friend," the man answered instantly. "We don't really have time for this—"

"He's right," Marvin agreed. They hauled Jack's body through the doors, Schneeplestein walking with them in a hurry for the elevator. As they got in the hospital, Schneep briefly left their side and carted a gurney over to them. They (not so gently) dropped Jack on top of it and made a break for the elevator.

Once inside, Dr. Schneeplestein started to peer down at Jack with squinted eyes, moving the hero's limbs up and down curiously.

"What floor?" Marvin asked.

"Same as Jameson," the doctor responded. Marvin hit the button. "He is not in good shape at all. How is he even alive?"

"Dunno," Marvin said. "Can you do anything about it?"

"He's in critical condition," Schneeplestein said. "I have a surgery room near. We'll have to get him in there and operate."

"We have to operate?" the stranger asked, wringing his hands.

The elevator dinged and dropped them off on their floor. They pushed themselves out. "I can do it alone," Schneeplestein said. "Not to worry. I am a qualified doctor!"

"Thank gosh," the stranger sighed.

Marvin and the man wheeled the gurney behind Schneep as he led them down the hallway. Doctors glanced up from their work for a brief moment before averting their gaze—they knew better than to question Schneeplestein's business. Schneeplestein opened the surgery doors and ushered them in. The operating table in the middle of the room was clean and already prepared—had Schneeplestein had time to prepare or was it always like that?

"Lift in three, two, one," Marvin instructed, and they grabbed Jack's limbs again and set him on the table. The stranger shoved the gurney to the side of the room.

"That's a lot of blood," Schneeplestein muttered.

"As long as you can fix him, right?" the stranger said.

"Perhaps—"

"Doctor," Marvin said firmly. Distressed, Schneeplestein met the magician's eyes. "Work your magic."

"I..."

"This is life or death," Marvin warned. "If you have the power to fucking save him, by God, you'd better use it."

Schneeplestein swallowed hard, rummaging with his tools. His hands were shaking. "Of—of course. I'll do my best. But you cannot be here for this."

"What?" the stranger asked harshly. "Where are we supposed to go?"

"Wait with him, or something," Schneeplestein said, waving his hand. "Now go! Shoo so I can save him!"

Without a word, the stranger and Marvin left. Marvin offered the man a weak smile, which instantly felt insensitive. "I've got a room here we can sit in."

"Uh—" But Marvin was already heading down to Jameson's room, so the man had no choice but to follow him or find something to occupy himself with.

Jameson's grim face was the first thing Marvin was greeted with when he opened the door. _"Did Schneeplestein make it in time?"_

"He made it," Marvin confirmed softly, pulling the foldable chair out for the stranger. "Here you go."

"Thanks," the man said. He slumped into it and adjusted the cap he was wearing on his head down. It looked like an effort to cover his face.

"Jack's gonna be okay," Marvin told Jameson, who relaxed his shoulders. "Well, that's the hope."

 _"That's great to hear,"_ Jameson said, nodding. _"What of that man over there? Who is he?"_

"Oh yeah," Marvin said. He snapped his fingers, grabbing the stranger's attention. Marvin wasn't gonna lie—he thought the man looked pretty pathetic. It didn't help that his first impression was of the dude hovering over a broken Jack late at night. He was also suspicious. What sensible person would be out at ten? "Who are you, exactly?"

"Chase Brody," the man said, looking up. His eyes were tired. "I'm a friend."

"I'm Marvin, this is Jameson. When you mean 'friend', do you mean of Jack...?" Marvin assumed. "Or...not Jack?"

"Not Jack," Chase said. Then he paled. "Oh my gosh. He was...this whole time..."

Jameson and Marvin raised their eyebrows. Judging from the way Chase was reacting, it didn't take a lot of brain cells to realize that he was a friend of Jack's other side—his real life. That kind of surprised Marvin, too. He knew Jack had a real life with a real job, but he never really _questioned_ it. It always felt like Jack was the only side of him—at least, the only side that he cared for.

"So...you know Jack," Chase said numbly. "As his hero self."

Marvin moved to the other side of the room and shrugged off his cat mask. He set it down on Jameson's beside table. "Yeah. Kind of."

"I'm so confused," Chase muttered under his breath. "How did this all happen...? How did I not—?" He shut his mouth and shook his head.

"Ah...well..." Marvin trailed off. He didn't know how to comfort the dude. Like, was he supposed to? He felt that was more of Jack's responsibility. Chase was _his_ friend. He deserved to hear it from Jack.

If he made it out of the surgery room alive...

Besides. Did Jack even want his two lives to come together like this? Marvin wasn't about to drop all the shit on Chase the way Jack did with them (willingly, of course). Chase probably didn't know a lot of things because Jack didn't _want_ him to.

 _"It would be best to leave it to Jack,"_ Jameson agreed. _"And for the time being, we will pretend I am a normal patient."_

 _Gotcha,_ Marvin responded.

They spent the next couple minutes in silence. Jameson and Marvin communicated in their heads but left Chase out of it—it was bad enough that he got dragged into weird shit. He didn't seem to be taking it well. He was hunched in his chair, staring into his hands containing Jack's blood. Yeah, that would be scarring.

Suddenly, Chase said, "So you help Jack?"

Jameson and Chase exchanged troubled looks. Marvin scratched his head. "Yeah...just once, though."

A pause. "What happened?"

"Um..." Marvin's throat went dry. "Er...I shouldn't say. Ask Jack when he gets out."

 _"Elegant as ever,"_ Jameson remarked to Marvin. _"'Ask Jack'."_

A couple hours later, there was a knock on the door, and Schneeplestein poked his head in. There were shadows under his eyes, but he managed to smile. "The surgery is done."

Chase stood up. "Is he okay?"

"'Okay' is a very weird word," Dr. Schneeplestein said. "He will be alive, if that is what you mean."

"Thank fuck," Marvin said. "So what's gonna happen?"

"He will need rest," Schneeplestein announced. "Lots of it. As do I. If Mr. Jackson will allow it, I can move Jack into this room."

All heads turned to the tailor.

Jameson gave a wide smile and a big thumbs-up.

"All right," Schneeplestein said. "Wait just a moment."

He shut the door.

"Guess you're gonna get answers," Marvin told Chase.

Chase wiped his face. From tears or sweat, Marvin didn't know. "Yeah, guess so. Tell me, though—"

"Nah," Marvin interrupted. Chase stared at him. "You only need to hear Jack. Not me, or Dr. Schneeplestein, or Jameson over here."

The doors opened again, and this time the gurney carrying Jack's body was sliding through first. Chase made a strangled noise and backed up as the gurney strolled next to Jameson's bed. Dr. Schneeplestein hooked up an IV needle to Jack's arm slowly. Marvin noticed he was looking worse for wear. His posture was slacked and all his weight was shifted onto one leg. His lab coat was pulled up and buttoned around his collar. Marvin frowned, but didn't say anything...yet.

"Well, he'll be asleep for a while," Dr. Schneeplestein said in a raspy voice. "Unsurprisingly, his powers may also include a small healing factor—"

"Like Spider-Man," Marvin blurted.

"Er, yes," Schneeplestein continued. "Which explains why he was able to survive with a slit throat and multiple stab wounds. If it were any normal person, I assume he would have died long before any of you found him." He shook his head. "Foolish man."

They all stared at Jack's sleeping form. For the most part, he was patched up. Schneeplestein had cut off the top of his suit (much to Jameson's disappointment) and stitched up his two stab wounds. His fingertips were scrubbed clean of blood. One thing Marvin found odd was the lack of a wound on Jack's neck. He clearly remembered the blood gushing from his throat. His eyes trailed back to Schneeplestein's figure—his buttoned up lab coat _covering his neck_.

_If you have the power to fucking save him, by God, you'd better use it._

Marvin had said that to Schneeplestein before they left the surgery room. Of course. It was because of Marvin that Schneeplestein felt pressured to save Jack with his healing power. He knew Schneeplestein wasn't comfortable using it, and he practically coerced him into doing so. And Schneeplestein's consequence of using it was on Marvin.

The German locked eyes with him. Briefly, he shook his head in an assuring way and peeled back part of his coat to reveal his throat. It wasn't sliced open or bleeding, but there was a red line across it like someone had attempted to strangle him. _No harm_ , the doctor mouthed.

Marvin's heart sank back into his chest out of relief.

"I still need answers," Schneeplestein said, readjusting his collar. "Tell me everything that happened."

"I was on a walk when I felt something was wrong. I went exploring for a little and then found him in the middle of the street. I thought—I thought he was dead. He was bleeding everywhere." He sniffed. "Shit. Ugh. I'm so sorry."

"I lost him after he left the hospital this afternoon," Marvin continued, letting Chase collect himself. "Then I realized where he'd probably gone. Obviously, I was a little late to the party."

 _"Your word choice has been poor today,"_ Jameson thought jestingly.

"We hauled him all the way here," Marvin finished. He glanced at Chase. "But we're not entirely sure what happened to him."

There was an undertone in his voice that he hoped would reached Schneeplestein. It did. The doctor's face grew somber. Everyone but Chase knew what happened: Antisepticeye.

"His injuries remind me of a patient I had months ago," Dr. Schneeplestein said thoughtfully. "It was a rather...interesting patient."

Marvin quirked an eyebrow. "What's that mean?"

"I can't remember," Dr. Schneeplestein admitted. "I see lots of patients daily. And a lot of them do not always survive. But I do remember some of it—this patient arrived with a slit neck. He was still alive when we operated on him."

Chills were shooting down Marvin's back. "Did he survive?"

Schneeplestein shrugged. "I have no clue. I'll try to find the file, but it may take some time." He moved towards the door. "If you all need anything, do not be afraid to ask. I understand that visiting hours are over, but I am technically allowed to grant special access, so you are all permitted to stay. That is, if you want to. Goodnight." With that, the doctor left them.

Chase moved his chair towards Jack's side. "I'll be here when you wake up, bro," Chase told the hero, putting a hand on the gurney's railing.

Marvin cleared his throat. "Y'know, there's a bathroom three doors left." Chase looked up. "Figured you'd wanna get the blood off your hands. It's like Schneep said: Jack's gonna be here when you get back, so you've got time to wash up."

Chase lifted his left hand. His face scrunched up in disgust. "Right. Thanks."

He left.

Once he was gone, Marvin settled next to Jameson. They shared tired looks.

 _"I cannot wait to leave this hospital,"_ Jameson said, cracking a smile. _"My customers will be wondering where I've been. Most importantly, I need to make Jack another suit."_

"One step at a time," Marvin said, eyes twinkling. He frowned, suddenly remembering something. "Hey, didn't Jack say he had an eyeball sidekick?"

_"I don't believe I was awake for that."_

"Oh. I thought it was odd that it's not here. I wonder where it is now," Marvin muttered. "It wasn't at the street. Maybe it's resting at Jack's hideout—or wherever he lives."

~***~

Antisepticeye clenched his fist tight. Whenever the eyeball squirmed uncomfortably, he would squeeze harder until the struggle stopped. What a pain.

He didn't know if it was a good idea to leave Jack alone on the street. Superheroes were awfully resilient, and he was still alive when Anti had slit his throat. He of all people should've known that anyone can survive that. But it didn't matter—Anti had gotten what he wanted, and he was sure that Jack would not recover from the beatdown so easily. There was bound to be bad effects.

Antisepticeye reappeared in a new house, one that wasn't originally owned by doctors. He padded into the living room and grinned. The machine that had taken months to build would finally be complete. It was five feet in size, shaped like a double helix. There were wires connected to every square inch of it, but in the center of the helix, there was an opening for an object.

With his free hand, Antisepticeye snatched a circular tank off a table. It was barely a foot long, filled with green liquid that resembled poison. He popped the lid open and threw the eyeball into the tank. It splashed into the tank. Before it could escape, Anti slammed it shut and twisted it. He gently carried it over to the helix machine and pushed wires aside, humming to himself.

"There you go," Anti said, placing the green tank in the center. With a soft click, it locked into place. The eyeball was swimming around frantically, its eye wide with terror. Anti only smiled.

He grabbed the wires from the machine. Some of them were plugged into the machine but not plugged into anything else. When he gathered ten into one hand, he plucked each wire into his other and stabbed it into his forearm. It was a disgusting sight, but he laughed as he inserted each wire, despite the blood trickling from his arm.

"So _close_ ," Anti said softly, though his tone was as sharp as his knife. He patted the machine and tilted his head at the eyeball. "You could've stopped me, you know. But you didn't. You just... _watched_. That's all you do, isn't it? Watch, watch, watch. _Waiting_ for luck to come your way. Thinking it'll get you out of the bad times."

He hit a button on the helix. Instantly, the green liquid from the tank flowed through the wires, acting as a sort of tube. The second it came into contact with Anti's arm, he howled and clutched it furiously as it turned green. The liquid was spreading through his forearm like venom, lighting up his veins with green energy. It traveled to his heart, his toes, and his head, never stopping until his entire body was glowing a dark green. His eyes grew dark like pools of ink invading a white paper. And then all the green lights that had enveloped the room a second ago were sucked back into Antisepticeye's body. He gasped, shaking the wires from his arm.

The eyeball's tank was drained of green liquid. The eyeball inside was rolling around on the bottom of it, its eye closed.

Antisepticeye chuckled. "Do you feel _lucky_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to include as much of JSE's stuff as I possibly can, but man, I didn't even think about using Sam's septic tank until recently! So glad it hit me before I wrote this lmao
> 
> (Also I feel like there's finally enough details in the story to form a theory, or at least hypothesize what's gonna happen. And I will be so happy if someone can spot some of the nods and parallels in this chapter.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! If you did, feel free to leave a comment because it's so good to see what you guys think :D


	47. What Friends Are For

Two days passed.

Chase had expected him to wake up after a day, but his best friend remained still in his bed.

He asked Dr. Schneeplestein about it. However, he didn't like his answer.

"This is strange, indeed," Schneeplestein said, rubbing his chin. His clipboard was tucked under his arm. "His stitches will take more time to heal, but I'm afraid his mental condition is not well."

"You don't know what's wrong with him?" Chase said.

"His injuries may have been caused by something...unnatural," Schneeplestein answered slowly. He seemed to be checking every word he said like he was treading on thin ice. "Perhaps his troubles are out of my reach as a doctor." He sighed. "I suppose all we can do is wait it out and hope your friend will wake up soon."

"Right." Chase shook Dr. Schneeplestein's hand. "Thanks, doc."

"One more thing," Dr. Schneeplestein said. "Get your friend a change of clothes so he looks less like _Jack_." He motioned at Jack, who was dressed in the bottom half of his red suit, leaving his chest exposed (Schneep said it was so he could monitor the stitches). The snipped off top and cowl had already been thrown in the Dumpster, which Marvin "accidentally" set ablaze so nobody could find it.

Without anything better to do, Chase set out for Sean's apartment. He had called Stacy after the first day to check in, so she didn't have to worry about anything, although she sounded a little disappointed that he would be spending more of his time at the hospital than home.

Chase bit his lip as he entered the apartment. He knew Signe was good friends with Sean, so he did his best to avoid her as he made his way to the elevator.

"Hey, Chase!" Signe's voice chimed. He flinched, adjusted his cap down, and faced her awkwardly.

"Heyyy," Chase said. "I was just stopping by, don't mind me."

"Oh, okay," Signe said, nodding. "Where's Sean? I'm a little worried about him since—never mind. Were you with him?"

"Yeah, h-he's fine," Chase lied. Signe didn't seem to catch his stutter. "What do you mean, worried for him? Something happen?"

"Ah, well," Signe started, wringing her hands. "There was a...well, one of the tenants died. He and Sean were good buddies."

" _Oh_ ," Chase said. How had he not known about this? Wouldn't Sean have told him? Confided in him? He shouldn't have been surprised—he figured there was a lot of things Sean hadn't told him. "I'm so sorry. He didn't, er, get to tell me that yet. I'm just here to get something for him."

"Knock yourself out," Signe said. "Watch out for him, Chase. He tries to hide it, but he's hurting."

 _Yeah, not just emotionally,_ Chase agreed silently. Signe left him to his devices.

Sean's apartment was—surprise, surprise—clean. At least, that's what Chase thought as he entered the living room. There wasn't much decoration—a small plant here, a bean bag there. When Chase opened the door to his room, his eyes widened at the clutter.

A small piece of his bookshelf was duct taped back onto it. There were piles of books on the ground in a messy fashion, with most of them talking about aerodynamics. His bed's covers were sprawled haphazardly onto his desk like he'd thrown them aside when he woke up. Hanging from the ceiling above the desk was a weird bird bed, or at least that's what it looked like. But Sean didn't have a bird, unless he suddenly got one? Where was it now?

He made a note to look later. Right now, he was there for clothes. Chase pulled open a drawer and peered inside. At the top of the pile was a red hoodie and red joggers, ready to grab.

Was this his suit before the one he had now?

Chase couldn't believe he'd wear something so ghetto. He couldn't even believe it'd been here the whole time. Chase bit his lip and grabbed a pink shirt (to spite him) and regular jeans. He glanced around for shoes, but Sean hid them too well for Chase to find, so he ditched the search and headed back to the hospital.

~***~

Rarely did Dr. Schneeplestein smile at work. As a doctor, many patients don't always get better. A lot of the time, he was sent to comfort families and talk them through the process. It was never fun, and Schneeplestein hated it.

There were moments where he was genuinely happy, though. For every death, there was a miracle. Today, Jack narrowly escaped death, and Jameson Jackson had fully recovered.

The tailor's beaming face was so bright it rubbed off on him.

"You've been cleared, my friend," Schneeplestein announced. "You passed your exams wonderfully. You've been discharged."

 _"Jumping Jehoshaphat!"_ Jameson said. His inner voice was extremely chipper, surprising Schneeplestein. _"It's about time! I can't wait to reopen Dress Dapper!"_

"Yes, yes," Schneeplestein grinned. "Don't get hurt again. I won't appreciate sewing you up."

Jameson flinched a little. Immediately, Schneeplestein cursed himself for his poor word choice, but Jameson laughed it off easily. _"Of course, doc!"_

"I'll be there to keep him out of trouble," Marvin added smugly. "Y'know, since Jack can't do it right now."

Their eyes glanced towards the other person in the room. Chase had gone to the cafeteria for lunch, but he'd dropped off the spare clothes for him. Jack was now in jeans, still shirtless as ever. His breathing had evened in the morning, which was a big relief from everyone. If only he would wake up.

"Well." Schneeplestein patted Jameson on the back. "Take it easy, friend."

Jameson nodded with delight and swung his legs off the bed. As soon as he stood up, Marvin reached forward instinctively, but Schneeplestein shook his head at him. Jameson's legs wobbled for a moment. Then he stood straight and gave a thumbs-up. Schneeplestein watched Marvin close his eyes in solace.

One patient cleared. One to go.

~***~

Marvin accompanied Jameson back to Dress Dapper! There was a worry in the back of his head that Jameson would lose his feeling in his legs and fall over, but he was fine the whole way there. Jameson was practically _skipping_.

Jameson frowned as he reached the door to his shop. His hand reached down to his pocket as if looking for his key, but then he realized he didn't have it. _"I think my keys are inside."_

"Don't worry, your back door might still be open," Marvin said, gesturing around the back. "I forgot to lock it when I broke in."

Jameson blanched. _"You broke into—"_

"Don't worry." Marvin tried for an innocent smile, though it came across as a hangdog expression. He applied some weight onto the back door. It slipped open. "Ha-ha!"

They entered the shop.

Jameson's eyes were wandering around aimlessly, his expression wistful. He gently picked up a piece of cloth and turned it over in his hands. It was the same shade as Jack's suit.

Marvin scuffed his foot on the ground in an attempt to draw Jameson's attention without spooking him. "Whatcha thinking about?"

It was a silly question, but Marvin couldn't bear the silence. He should've just left Jameson to his thoughts. He felt like he was almost intruding on something. Jameson sighed and closed his eyes. _"My mind keeps taking me back to that night. With the knife and the—"_ He shuddered. _"Oh, how I wish I could forget about it."_

"I'm sorry," Marvin said, trying to sound as sympathetic as he could. It wasn't that he _didn't_ feel empathy towards Jameson—sometimes Marvin's voice didn't convey his feelings properly, and his words would fall short. "But it's in the past now. I don't know how to sugarcoat this—frankly, it's not my strong suit—but you're gonna have to live with the damage. It might get worse over time. You'll have to keep pushing through."

 _"Wise words from an inelegant man,"_ Jameson said. His chuckle echoed through Marvin's head. _"Thank you for accompanying me here, and for not giving up on me."_

"Hmm?"

 _"You were the one who discovered I was missing. You filed a missing persons report. When law enforcement failed to find me, you were the one who continued searching. Without your persistence, I would've never been found."_ Jameson set the fabric back on its table. _"Nobody has ever cared so much for me."_

"Well," Marvin said. "That's what friends are for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Figured it would be nicer to read than a long chapter, which has been happening for the past few anyway!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next up: Origins.


	48. Origins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the amount of tExt you're about to read

Jack opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was nothingness. It felt like they were still closed, but he felt them flitting open. Wherever he was, it was so dark he couldn't see his body, or his hands, which he held out in front of him, feeling for anything—a wall, a surface, maybe another person.

"Hello?" he called to the darkness. No answer—as expected. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "Where am I...?"

He took a step forward. Instantly, his surroundings changed. No longer was the world pitch black. He actually recognized the place now—10 Park St, near the center of Capo City. It was night, judging from the streetlights and the shadows cast from the buildings. A lone man was walking down the street, his footsteps calm and steady.

Jack walked towards him in a trance. Though the man was dressed in bright clothes—a green bomber jacket and light washed jeans—his face sent tremors down Jack's back. Antisepticeye's face was eerily soft. His eyes held a certain cunningness to them, but it lacked the malicious expression the current Antisepticeye carried. They were quite normal.

"This isn't real," Jack realized. "A-A dream? What the fuck...?"

Jack heard another pair of footsteps in the distance. While Antisepticeye—was he really Anti at that moment, or Matt Watson?—didn't turn around, Jack did, and spotted a man fifty yards back, his head tilted low to the ground, so that Jack couldn't see up past his lip. Jack frowned. Another man rounded the corner in front of Matt Watson and leaned against the building wall, pulling out a cigarette. His posture was stiff, giving him away immediately. However, Matt didn't seem to catch it, Jack thought, because the dude's behavior wasn't changing.

When three more men appeared from the shadows, Matt's footsteps turned into long, reaching strides. He took his hands out of his pockets and kept his eyes forward, trying to ignore the ominous men. Jack studied them more closely. They wore orange bandannas in different spots—around their neck, hanging from their belt, on their wrist. Anywhere else in the world, it would have been a fun fashion statement, but it was a sign of their affiliation in Capo City—the Purgatory gang.

Matt knew it. As soon as the man with the cigarette shifted his weight against the wall, Matt started into a jog and sped up. Jack followed him curiously. Matt looked past an alley and peered inside it. There was a brick wall up ahead, but there was an opening in the right side that would probably lead him to the next street. Jack finally sidled up to Matt and turned the corner with him.

It was a dead end.

Matt's body tensed up in fear, realizing what this meant. If the Purgs had followed him closely, then—

"Guess ya made the wrong turn, pal," a man said. He was the one who had been following Matt from behind, with his orange bandana wrapped around his neck like a scarf. His head was clean shaven and his jaw was covered in stubble, kind of like the stereotypical fresh-out-of-prison look. From behind him, four men fanned out to his sides.

Matt's fists clenched, but they shook fiercely. Jack himself raised his fists as if planning to fight, until he realized that he was in a dream, and he wouldn't have made a difference. Somehow, that made it even more haunting.

 _This is the past_ , Jack thought. _But—how am I seeing this?_

"Look...pal," Matt tried in a steady voice, "I'm not looking for trouble or anything."

"We know." The man stepped forward, adjusting his scarf. "You know what we want."

"Right. Of course." Matt furiously fished out a wallet from his back pocket and slipped his I.D. out. He tossed it to the man. "Just—take it and leave, please!"

The men scoffed to themselves as the leader peeked inside it. He chuckled softly, almost scornfully. "The money is nice, yeah. But that's not it, pal." He scuffed his feet (Jack recognized this: people liked to do this for the theatrics of it before they fought him) and looked down, drawing out a knife from his belt. Matt stumbled backwards until he was pressed against the wall. "Someone's payin' us well enough to keep you silent. See, you must've pissed them off somehow. They send their regards."

"Google," Matt whispered to himself.

They advanced. Jack closed his eyes. He didn't want to see what was being done to Matt, but he knew enough. His screams echoed in the small alley, causing Jack's ears to tingle. The feeling of utter uselessness—the knowledge that he was only there to watch—filled Jack with vile disgust. He forced himself to stare at the sky and try to ignore the blood splatters on the walls of the alley, or the grunts as the Purgs drove a knife into their victim. There was a gurgling, choking noise a second later. Jack cringed. He knew it without even looking. They had slit his throat.

"Show's over, boys." Jack heard the knife clatter to the uneven ground. "Let's get the hell out of here."

The Purgs' footsteps receded. When they were gone, Jack resisted the urge to follow them and instead wheeled himself back into sight of Matt. The poor guy was sprawled on the ground, blood dripping out of his neck like a geyser. His chin was dribbled with blood, as was his stomach. Jack spotted four open wounds.

"He should be dead," Jack muttered, horrified. The amount of blood he was losing should've been fatal, yet Matt's chest heaved and shuddered like a dying car engine. Jack ran a hand on his face—it passed through his body like a ghost, much to his despair. Still, what was Jack doing, trying to change something that already happened? And why was he even trying to help _Anti_? The mass murderer who killed Robbie—

Jack was about to shut his eyes when he noticed something green above him. Terrified, he looked up and saw a green eyeball peering over the top of the brick wall. Its single eye was staring at Matt's body.

Jack gasped. "Sam! What is this?"

Sam didn't acknowledge Jack. _Right, because he can't see me..._ Jack bit his lip and frowned. The sight of Sam forced him to think about his surroundings more clearly, and in turn, made Jack wonder about his current state outside of this vivid dream. Where was the real Sam...?

Alas, his memory was addled at the moment, so he barely knew bits of what was happening in the real world. He saw flashes of a dark, busted street, but no Sam. 

Time started to pass. Jack wasn't sure how long, but he was aware of his surroundings changing, like the shadows on the walls receding, and the street lights flickering intensely. The sound of an ambulance was also emerging quickly, its wails louder than bombs.

Two paramedics came rushing down the alley until they happened across Matt's body. One of them swore as they checked his vitals.

"This ain't looking too good," they muttered, rummaging in their kit for bandages.

"No time for that," the other medic snapped. "We need to get 'em to the hospital now, 'for they lose too much blood. Can't treat 'em here."

They picked Matt by his arms and legs and got him out of the alley. Jack followed them, as did Sam from above. The paramedics hoisted Matt into the back of the ambulance. As soon as they slammed the doors, the driver gassed it, and the wails of the ambulance resumed.

"Wait!" Jack shouted. Fuck. He should've climbed in with them when he had the chance—now he'd have to catch up with them, if only he knew the hospital they were going to. However, just as Jack took a step forward, his surroundings shifted, and he found himself standing on the roof of the ambulance truck. The suddenness of his transition was so jarring that knots formed in his stomach. He dropped to the floor of the roof, trying to stay onboard—as soon as his stomach pressed against it, he fell through like a ghost, landing on Matt's gurney.

"Fuck!" Jack exclaimed, rolling off the gurney. "The fuck are these dream physics?"

He glared down at Matt. A clear mask was pulled over his mouth, his shirt was tugged up, and little wires were hooked into his arm. The two medics were furiously working on him, their hands gliding across his body, applying pressure to his wounds in an effort to stem the blood. Their eyes were alert—so alert that they didn't notice Sam in the corner of their ambulance, sitting atop a cabinet. Jack's eyes shifted onto the eyeball in dismay. Just what the hell was he seeing, and _why_?

The ambulance screeched to a stop. The doors burst open, and a whole team of doctors were already hauling the gurney out of the truck and into the hospital. Jack and Sam were the last to leave, and as he glanced around, he realized it was still pretty late, and that he was standing at the side entrance of Heartstone Hospital.

He tilted his head. Wait. Heartstone Hospital...wasn't he somewhere inside it? Or wasn't he close to it? His most recent memories were about the hospital—maybe he was on his way to it? He shook his head and followed the doctors. The Sam in his dream was also intrigued to find out what was happening, because they stuck close to the high ceilings. And was it Jack, or did Sam's vibrant green look a lot duller and discreet?

Just as the doctors carted Matt into the operating room, the doors slammed in Jack's face. He pressed a hand against it, expecting it to pass through, but of course, the fucking dream physics were all over the place. His hand remained pressed against the door, unable to let him in. He gritted his teeth, a thousand curses storming in his head. Sam was floating next to him, their eye squinting at the door.

"Sam?" Jack tried again. "Can you hear me?"

The eyeball turned to face him, and Jack's heart skipped a beat. He began to smile until Sam floated right through him, examining the corridor. He huffed.

The feeling of time passing overcame Jack again. The second it stopped, Jack was in another room—a patient room. Matt was lying in a bed, his chest heaving up and down in long, slow motions. There were at least five doctors surrounding him, expressions of sorrow, pity, and indifference weighing their faces. This time, it was a little harder to spot Sam, but he saw a round shadow underneath Matt's bed and assumed it was the creature.

"—nearly fatal," one doctor was saying. "Looks like a...lost cause."

"He got any family? Friends?" another doctor asked.

One of the doctors flipped through the pages on their clipboard. "Uhh, nah. He's got a Ryan Magee listed as a friend, but we couldn't get into contact with him."

"With all these injuries, he won't make it to the next day," another said. Jack moved to stand next to the huddle of doctors and looked at their name tags. He recognized the names: two of them were the same surname—Emily and Jacob Moore, the married couple whose house they found Jameson Jackson in—and Dr. Rao, the partner to Dr. Cheung. The one holding the clipboard was a Dr. Iplier, and the last doctor was Schneeplestein.

Jack found it weird how he knew everyone in the room. What an unfortunate coincidence.

"Oh, I've got a call to take," Dr. Iplier suddenly said, taking out his phone. He held it to his ear for a moment, then nodded and gestured towards the door. He mouthed: _Permission to leave?_

Dr. Schneeplestein shooed him away and turned back to Matt. "Oh, what will we do with this poor man?"

"What we must," Dr. Jacob Moore said. He grabbed the clipboard Dr. Iplier left on the bed to read. "If we cannot get into contact with a family member or friend, we may have to take him off life support."

"Let's slow down—" Schneeplestein tried.

"Look at his brain scans, Schneeplestein," Dr. Rao said somberly. "He's in a coma. There's a low probability that he'll be able to wake up, and if he does, who knows what condition he'll be in? He's suffered permanent brain damage. That's gonna affect him for the rest of his life."

"But there is a chance," Schneeplestein argued. "We cannot do anything rash just yet. He deserves a fighting chance."

"I know you mean well," Dr. Emily Moore said. "But—see here—we're putting him out of his misery. Imagine if he doesn't ever wake up. Can you imagine it? Never being able to do anything, forever trapped in your own body? Perhaps, if he's lucky, he'll be able to hear what goes on in the world around, but he will never participate in it. Think of it, Schneeplestein. We'll be helping him."

"This—this doesn't feel right," Schneeplestein muttered. "No, as chief doctor here, I refuse to perform euthanasia on this man. We will wait until he wakes up, or until we can contact a family or friend to decide what will happen."

"Understood."

"Now, we should let the patient rest. Let's try contacting Mr. Magee again."

The doctors left. Immediately, Sam rolled out from beneath the bed and zoomed close to Matt's face, examining it. Jack moved around the bed to stand next to Sam, horribly fascinated.

Something miraculous happened then. The same feeling Jack shared with Jameson—the telepathic bridge—was emerging. For a second, Jack was expecting to hear Jameson's voice, but it was one he'd never heard before. And the voice wasn't _speaking_. Jack could just feel their thoughts—Sam's thoughts.

They were conflicted. Bent between saving Matt, or leaving him to die. Sam didn't know what to do.

Jack glanced at the eyeball. They were darting around in the air nervously, their tail swishing like a horse's. He knew that Sam could save him with a tap on the forearm, but there was something wrong with the whole situation. As Sam neared Matt, Jack could feel an angry presence looming over Matt. No, it was coming _from_ him, unreachable from even himself. But with Sam's abilities, it would awaken it.

Matt stirred for just a moment. His eyes were moving under his eyelids, but he managed to rasp, "Don't wanna die. Was...too weak..."

Jack took a step back in surprise. He'd heard those words so many times, from Antisepticeye's taunts.

Sam squeezed their eye shut and wrapped their tail around Matt's wrist. With a pitiful look, green light enveloped Matt's forearm, spreading under his skin until it covered his entire body. Jack had seen this enough to know what was happening, but Matt's blessings were different. The light had started strong, but as it reached his shoulder, the hue started to grow darker, turning into a green so dark it was practically black. Eventually, the energy reached Matt's face, covering it with black tendrils. His hair became a gradient from light brown hair to dark green.

The wounds in Matt's chest also healed, the skin sewing back up as good as new. The ugly gash across his neck stayed, however. Matt gasped awake, the IV needle in his left arm popping out.

Sam stepped back, eye directed at the floor in shame. Jack stared at him in horror. Matt slowly slung his legs off the bed, looking down at his body in wonder. Once he propped himself up, he glanced around, eyes wide. Jack didn't expect them to land on him specifically. But they did, and a smile spread to Matt's face.

That was all it took. A piercing feeling tore through Jack's stomach so hard he stumbled back, crashing into the wall. There were two more jabs of pain, each just as intense that they left Jack gasping for breath. Instinctively, he clutched his stomach only to be met with slick blood—lots of it. And then, a choking sensation, across his neck—a clean slash—

Jack couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. His heart was stopping. Every breath was accompanied with a hiccup and a mouthful of blood—but god, it was pouring out of his throat, too—

And there was a voice coming from outside of his world—it was so familiar but he couldn't reach it—

_"Jack. It's Chase. You need to wake up—"_

He wasn't listening—he couldn't listen. He couldn't respond, how could he respond to him—?

"What did I tell you, Sean?"

Everything stopped. All at once, the pain subsided. In a state of disbelief, Jack opened his eyes and looked up.

Robbie smiled down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I finally finished this on Sunday! If you're reading this, I'm terribly sorry for the lack of updates. I may or may not have lost some of my motivation to write. Though I am determined to finish this story and get started on many more projects, so...
> 
> Anyway, I'll be working on this every chance I get, and Tuesday is our off day—because it's Election Day! You know what that means! If you meet the age requirements, get out there and vote!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated!


	49. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all these sorrows I have seen, they lead me to believe, that everything's a mess. But I wanna—

A hand reached down to Sean, its owner waiting patiently for Sean to take it.

Sean blinked once, twice. From his position on the floor, he glanced up at Robbie in a mixture of wonder and grief. His friend, standing a foot away, as if he had never bled out in Sean's arms. Robbie's face was almost as he remembered it, from the crinkles around his eyes to his careless smile. But the last image of Robbie had been a painful one. Sean remembered the way he smiled, which thinly veiled his fear. And his glassy eyes had been fixed onto Sean's face.

A lump formed in Sean's throat. He tried to look away, but he found himself staring at Robbie in disbelief. He reminded Sean of a projector's light—his features were blurry, and his body looked like it was going to fade away in the next moment. "Is this really you?"

Robbie chuckled. "Of course," he said, and that was all it took. Sean reached out, grasped his hand, and held it like a lifeline. With one yank, Robbie pulled him back to his feet until they were standing nearly a shoulder length apart. "It's the me you've always known."

"But...you're real?" Sean whispered, swallowing.

Robbie licked his lips, though Sean didn't think they were remotely dry. "That's another story." He turned away for a moment, then snapped his fingers at Sean. "I'm here because I heard your cry for help. You've been kind of stubborn these days, heh?"

The way Robbie said _these days_ was like a punch to the gut. It sounded so reminiscent, like they were two friends catching up after not seeing each other for two years. It might as well have been two years to Sean, anyway. Unable to say anything else, Sean demanded, "Stubborn?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," Robbie said. "You were just starting to understand teamwork, and suddenly you're a one-man army." He frowned. "What happened, Sean? Cold feet?"

"You—you know what happened," Sean snapped, tears rushing to his eyes in an instant. They were unwarranted, and suddenly he was trying not to show the cracks in his voice. "You—that damn demon, Anti—he killed you because of me." He paused, collecting himself. Accepting Robbie's death was difficult enough, but saying it in front of Robbie himself was _gut-wrenching_. Come to think of it, it was probably the first time Sean had said it aloud...ever. "How can I trust people if they—if they'll just get targeted? Why—Why would I let that happen again?!"

"Sean, it was never—"

"'Your fault'," Sean finished, his voice raising an octave higher. "Yeah, you said t-that the last time I saw you. But guess _what_? It's all been because of me— _everything_. Jameson's fate—do you know what Anti did to him?—happened because I wanted a _suit_. Bing? He nearly died because I wanted to have a friend. And...God, don't you realize how all of this could've been avoided if I hadn't been so—?"

A sob escaped his throat. Sean covered his mouth. He couldn't trust himself to speak another word. His hands were shaking—by God, his whole body was trembling—but he was _not_ going to break down.

Robbie moved towards him and tried to wrap his arms around Sean. As soon as he made contact, his arms passed right through Sean like smoke, and Robbie was suddenly giving himself a hug. He sighed, keeping his arms there, as if the mere sight of the hug would somehow comfort Sean. "I'm sorry," he said solemnly. "I understand what it must feel like, being in your shoes. You've got so much responsibility on your shoulders, and you don't think there's anyone who can lift some of the burden. But Sean, listen, you can't always look at the bad side of things. You've saved more lives than you have indirectly endangered. You carried a building on your shoulders and rescued hundreds of people. You may think you put Bing and Jameson into harm's way, but you _saved_ them. Because you had _help_."

Robbie had pulled away by then. Sean lowered his hand and looked around the room, blinking the tears out. There was no sign of Anti, Sam, or the doctors—it was only the hospital bed and Robbie. "Why am I here, Rob? Was all of this you?"

"Heh, if only," Robbie said, shaking his head. "You've seen the events. I could have never known what had happened on those nights."

An uneasy feeling curled in Sean's stomach. "Is this Anti?" he asked slowly.

"If it were Anti, I wouldn't be here," Robbie reminded him. "You have so much potential bubbling beneath the surface, but you don't know it. Even your connection with Sam is untapped— _was_ untapped."

"Sam? But how could they do this? They were—Anti took them!"

"Connections," Robbie said, poking his forehead like a visual aid. "Your connection with Sam was created the moment they gave you those powers. What can you conclude from that?"

Sean thought for a moment. "Sam builds a connection every time they give someone powers," he guessed, furrowing his eyebrows. "Which means Schneeplestein, Marvin, Jameson, Anti—they've all got a connection to Sam, too."

"You're a genius," Robbie said brightly. "I hope your friends realize this when you wake up."

Sean almost forgot about that, though it seemed ridiculous. Did he expect to stay in this state forever? He frowned. "I can't wake up, though," Sean protested. "I should be dead. He slit my throat and stabbed me." Just like those Purgatory members did to him, Sean thought. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"You were almost," Robbie said, shrugging. "I guess fate was feeling generous that night." He reached forward and clasped Sean around the shoulders—this time, his body was solid, and almost real. Sean jumped. "My time is up, but yours isn't. I've got to leave you now, but I need to say a few more things." He locked eyes with Sean, his face serious. "Don't give up on your friends. Don't ever stop trusting them. They've pulled through for you, and it's fair you do the same." He smirked. "Besides, it'd be a disgrace to me if you didn't."

Sean nodded, smiling ruefully. "I won't let you down this time."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Still, it's what _you_ needed to hear."

The smile slid off Sean's face. "Come again?" he said.

"You didn't really think it was me, did you?" Robbie's tone shifted from serious to melancholic. Maybe almost longingly—but why? "You think it's me, but I'm not real. Not really."

"No," Sean said angrily. "You _are_ real—you can't _not_ be real—"

"Everything I've said is everything you know," Robbie told him. "Your mind knows what's right for you—even when you think the opposite. You already knew to keep your friends close. About the connection with Sam. You just needed 'me' to help you." He stepped back from Sean. "All right, I've said enough. Best of luck to you, Sean."

At the corners of Sean's mind, he could feel his consciousness slipping back into the real world and out of his dream. The hospital room was beginning to vanish, from the shelves to the bed. He had seconds before he would wake up, presumably in pain and hopefully not in the middle of the road.

Ah, but one more thing.

"Robbie!" Sean called out.

"Yes?" Robbie said

"Thank you for everything." Sean took a deep breath, and continued. "And goodbye."

Robbie winked. "Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am *so* sorry for not updating in a month. I keep saying this, but god, I fell out of it so fast. I finally forced myself to get back into writing something, tho.
> 
> I've also started to begin taking notes and putting more effort into the chapters, so if you don't see updates as fast as they usually were, it's because I'm making sure I'm happy with them
> 
> Thanks for not giving up on the story, no matter how much I fail to deliver. Kudos to you readers :)


	50. Teeming Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, you filthy animal. Went through several drafts for this chapter, which is why it took so damn long. Glad to have it done just in time for Christmas Eve. Consider this an early gift.

It was a miracle.

Chase was at his bedside, propping his head on his elbow as he stared at the monitor, finding something beyond it. The room was deathly quiet, aside from the occasional beeps from the machines surrounding Sean, and the faint whistling of cars whisking down the streets below them. Between those sudden rushes of noise, Chase was growing anxious. He never liked silence. There was nothing to distract himself with—no fiddling with a camera, no words to say, no barrier keeping him from his thoughts.

Dr. Schneeplestein had checked in on him an hour ago, carrying a tray of cereal and orange juice. He didn't say anything to Chase, but he nodded his way and set the tray on the foldable chair and left. And the last time Chase saw the cat man—Marvin—he was leaving with the tailor. So he was Sean's most frequent visitor.

Then he woke up.

It hadn't been an hour later when Sean's body jerked alive, his head shooting up in surprise. Chase was so startled he slipped out of his chair and knocked his hat off. Sean was already falling back into the soft pillows by the time Chase scrambled to his feet.

"Sean!" he cried. "You're awake! Oh my—"

"Ow," the man muttered, pinching his forehead and scrunching his face. "My head hurts..."

"Yeah...—yeah, I'll get the doc, hang on," Chase said, and just as he turned towards the door he saw Dr. Schneeplestein burst through, his eyes wild.

"Jack!" the German scolded. "Stay still—"

"Shh," Sean said, closing his eyes. "That's a secret..." He frowned, dropping his hand and craning his head up at Chase, as if noticing his best friend for the first time. In a second, his face dropped, melting into horror. "Chase! What are you doing here?" Sean did a double take at his clothes: a polka dot hospital gown.

"I'm the one who carried you in here," Chase said, the shock wearing off. The numbness was starting to kick in. Sean didn't tell him his secret. He knowingly kept it from him for several months. Chase thought about the time he sent Sean a link to the news article, the first one about the new superhero in the city. Sean's reaction was unimpressed and dumbfounded, but Chase didn't think it was too odd then. Now, all of it was bubbling to the surface. "Well, Marvin and I."

"M-Marvin," Sean said. Chase couldn't tell whether he was stuttering from his drowsiness or bewilderment. "Oh, God..."

"Didn't I say 'stay still'?" Dr. Schneeplestein barked. Sean flattened himself into the bed. "You'll ruin your IV needle like this." He walked over to the monitor and pressed a few buttons on it. "Hmph. I'll do a checkup on you in a short while, but you need to stay in this. Mr. Brody, I trust you'll keep an eye on him while I fetch my stuff. Can't let him run off on a suicide mission again." Dr. Schneeplestein sent a harsh look at Sean and left.

Chase raised an eyebrow. "What's he mean by that? What were you doing when I found you?"

"What was I doing?" Sean asked nervously. He couldn't beat around the bush forever, Chase knew that much. "I...oh, shit. Sam...I let Sam..." He huffed and closed his eyes. "I fucked up."

Chase scoffed. "Yeah, no shit, man."

Sean sniffed. "You weren't supposed to know."

"Yeah, no shit."

"Chase, I didn't _not_ tell you because I didn't trust you. It was because you were too close to me. Too important." Sean shifted in his bed, pulling the blankets over his chest and exposing his toes. "I lost someone because I let them in—I took a chance with them, and I couldn't have lived with myself if I played with your life like that."

Chase was silent for a moment. Then he chuckled dryly. It wasn't the apology he wanted, but Sean was a genuine guy, most of the time. He wasn't one to deliberately hurt people he cared about. "You're delirious. I hope you realize how stupid you sound."

"I did," Sean said. "Well, I _do_. I know better now. I realized a lot of things while I was out of it. Even had a face to face."

"Face to face...?" Chase asked, knitting his eyebrows together. Sean opened his mouth to respond when Dr. Schneeplestein entered the room again, flanked by two others—the magician and the tailor. Chase assumed Sean was going to move away from them, but he remained unmoving in his bed.

"Shit, I didn't think you were serious," Marvin told Schneeplestein, wide-eyed. "I thought he was a goner."

"I'm _right_ here. Hi," Sean said, clearing his throat. "You can drop the act."

"What act?" Marvin asked. "'Cuz we had to drag your ass in here, which was _not fun_ , thanks."

The tailor poked him in the shoulder. Marvin pursed his lips and said no more.

"We're just glad you're back," Dr. Schneeplestein continued, taking over for him. "Because we have much to talk about."

"Couldn't agree more," Sean said.

Marvin wrinkled his nose at Chase. "What about this guy?"

"Chase is staying," Sean said. "I owe it to him to be truthful." He glanced away from Chase. "That is, if he wants to stay."

"Count me in," the YouTuber said. "Just...talk slow."

It took nearly two hours.

Before the explanation started, Sean asked Schneeplestein for his phone and awkwardly typed something into it. Chase frowned, wondering who he was trying to contact, but Sean soon handed the phone back to Schneep and began. He talked about meeting Sam on the train and getting his powers. He talked about lifting up the burning building. About meeting Bingiplier, the android skater, and Google IRL, the bloodthirsty robot. The events that orchestrated Google's actions. Antisepticeye's first appearance in Bing's apartment.

Dr. Schneeplestein chimed in at that. While Sean took sips of water, he explained how Sam had given him the power to heal injuries at the cost of transferring some to himself. And then Sean took the storytelling torch back and sheepishly talked about ditching Schneeplestein in Bing's apartment to take him back to Robbie, a friend from his apartment.

Before Chase could ask if this was the same tenant that Signe had told him about, Dr. Schneeplestein interrupted.

"I am still seething," he said, toneless.

"Well, I couldn't carry everyone, could I?" Sean spread his palms. "Did what I could. Sorry."

According to Sean, Robbie was a computer genius, so with his help, they fixed up a broken Bing and connected an unconscious Google IRL to his computer. They found out two things in the morning: Bing didn't know he was a robot/android, and that Google IRL's programming was almost human-like with its responses to the environment, which read as suspicious to Robbie. But they were interrupted by an explosion downtown—Chase distinctly recalled seeing his Twitter feed blowing up with the news. It was targeted at a gang's turf with signs of foul play.

"And that's what started the gang war?" Chase asked.

Sean hung his head. "No. The final straw was Anti. He appeared in the hospital at night and started killing all of the Purgatory patients who were injured from the explosion. I got there late and tried to fight him, but he beat me and corrupted the machines. The whole floor died. The Purgatory couldn't take it out on the hospital—"

"Thanks to you," Dr. Schneeplestein added.

"—so they went for the Cobalts."

Marvin stuck out his tongue. "Nasty people. I got mugged by one last year. He took my lion mask and made me resort to this stupid cat one."

 _"It's quite endearing, though!"_ Jameson added brightly.

They knew there had to be a motive behind the recent Purgatory attacks. Together, Sean and Robbie had agreed the former would ask the Cobalts what was happening behind the scenes—Chase blanched at that part and almost asked Sean what drugs he was taking.

"That's so goddamn stupid," he muttered. "You're lucky to be alive."

"Yeah, look how fast my luck ran out," Sean said, gesturing at his stomach and neck. "But I met with the leader of the Cobalts—Leon. He mentioned a piece of tech that Purgs wanted from him, and then Anti arrived with Google."

"What a small world," Marvin said.

Dr. Schneeplestein glared at him.

Anti and Sean fought, while Google IRL went to retrieve the piece of tech from the Cobalts. Bing arrived moments later and pursued Google, which is when he managed to get the robot to break out of his programming from.

"Um, I lost again," Sean said quietly. At this point, his eyes were casted downwards at his polka dot gown, and he fiddled with his IV tube. "Anti mentioned Jameson and I lost focus for a second."

"Did he get the tech?" Chase said.

Sean nodded. Bing and Google were there to help him rescue Jameson from Anti's house—the house that Dr. Schneeplestein clenched his fists at.

"My coworkers," he said through gritted teeth. "The bastard killed them for their home all because of that one night."

"One night...?" Sean questioned. His face went slack as if he realized something. "Oh. Oh."

"What's going on?" Marvin demanded. "How do you know what he knows?"

"Sam..." Sean grimaced. "While I was in my short coma, I got these dreams. I thought they were weird at first, but now—wow." He faced Schneeplestein. "Anti was your patient once."

Schneeplestein's face grew dark. "Yes," he admitted. "I forgot all about it until I looked through the files recently. He went by Matt Watson, just an unfortunate soul who got mobbed by the Purgs. Beaten into a coma. Our staff had to decide what to do with him; he had no friends, family, next of kin. He had a Ryan Magee, but we never reached him. So the doctors agreed to pull his plug."

"Clearly, that didn't happen," Marvin said. "What did you do?"

"I disagreed, of course," Schneeplestein snapped. "I have faith in my patients. I had a feeling he could have recovered if given the time. So they agreed to hold off on it. And then we had never heard about the patient again."

"I'm sorry, how the fuck do you not file a missing report?" Chase said. "I'm getting creepy vibes from this place now."

"We did!" Schneeplestein said indignantly. "I asked Dr. Moore if she filed it and she had. Nothing happened after."

"I know why," another voice said, echoing.

The whole room jumped as two figures popped out of the hospital television, the static enveloping them like a coat of paint. Black and white spots fell off their bodies and flew back into the TV. In the static's spot, a tall, Asian man in a blue shirt was holding a disgruntled, wannabe skater man by his shoulder, who was looking around in a dizzy.

"Google, Bing!" Sean said, perking up.

"Bing?" Chase demanded.

"Huh? Oh, hey, Chase!" Bing waved. "You too?"

"I—" Chase started.

"Glad to hear from you again, Jack," Google IRL said, stepping forward. "Uh, I hope we're on good terms again."

"Yeah, I-I was a total douche," Sean acknowledged. "Sorry for taking my anger out on you."

"Hey—hey," Marvin said. "I like this nice sentimental moment going on, but I'm feeling like chopped liver. You said this is Google and Bing? These are the guys?"

"Yeah," Sean said. "They've been helping me at times."

"Saving," Google corrected with just a hint of playful smugness. His eyes flicked to Schneeplestein. "As for Matt Watson's disappearances and lack of information—you can blame Anti. He's been tracking all the files related to himself and erasing them—corrupting them—out of existence. I couldn't access the missing persons report for an Emily and Jacob Moore because he had deleted them."

Dr. Schneeplestein turned away from the view of the group. "Jesus Christ."

"My condolences," Bing said. "Can I get a chair?"

It took a few more minutes to get everyone situated again. Jameson, who was probably the kindest soul on the planet, offered to find more chairs for the two new guests. Before Bing and Google could smile and introduce themselves, he smiled, shook his head, then left.

"Oh, well, okay then," Bing said.

Introductions began and ended within a minute, reminding Chase of a very intense and awkward speed date. Once Jameson returned with two foldable chairs for Bing and Google, Sean resumed his story and finished it in five minutes. Maybe it was a good thing Bing and Google arrived, because it left the whole room a lot more focused on Sean's tale instead of itching to ask questions.

"Yowzers," Bing said, flinching. "He gave you an ugly gash on your neck? I mean, it's not there now, but hot damn, could you imagine?"

Sean self-consciously touched his neck and frowned. "Yeah, how did it heal so quickly?"

Dr. Schneeplestein raised his hand.

"But this was a deep wound..." Sean's eyes widened. "You didn't use—"

"No harm this time," Schneeplestein said, peeling his coat back to expose his neck. There was a thin red line across his throat, but no lines that indicated a tear in the skin. "It hurt like a pinch, but I'm beginning to think it's worth it, now that I see what I can do for people."

"I owe you my life," Sean said.

"No need, I owed you mine once," the German said dismissively. "Now, let's get to the important part. How do we defeat Anti?"

"You're thinking too far," Google said, shaking his head. "We can't beat him if we don't know his plans. From what little I've gathered, he wants to build a machine. I don't know its purpose, though."

 _"I think I do,"_ Jameson said meekly. Everyone's heads jerked up—Chase was still getting used to hearing another person's voice in his head. _"He kept calling me a marionette when I was in captivity. He said I was an experiment of his. And clearly he wants power. All of us—whoever got powers—got them from Sam, and now he's got them in his hands, too."_

Nobody seemed to be following, except for Google. "I see."

"Wanna explain?" Sean said, quirking an eyebrow.

"He got the idea from me," Google said. "Well, not me. Ryan. How he was able to transfer his body into another. That's why he was fascinated with me. He wanted to know how."

"So Anti studied you because he wants to _be_ you?" Marvin asked.

"More inspiration, I think," Sean said, catching onto the idea. "Anti wanted to use Jameson as his marionette— _literally_. He wanted to control him—taking it a step further than Ryan and Google. As soon as he got Sam, he could do his transference of powers thing and gain it somehow."

"Sam's powers aren't so normal, either," Dr. Schneeplestein added. "Think of it—me, a doctor, given healing powers. Jameson, unable to communicate through tongue, given the power to communicate through minds. Sean...Sam wanted you to defeat Anti, so he gave you a boost in strength, agility, healing."

"If Anti wanted something specific, he could force Sam to do it!" Chase said, snapping his fingers. He gasped, feeling an epiphany. "You've all been comparing him to a fucking demon this entire time! That's what he wants! Demons _possess_ people!"

"Sick," Bing said. Chase didn't know if he meant it in a disgusted or admirable way. "So what, then? He becomes Satan, what's he gonna do with all that power?"

"Well, he's a megalomaniac with a taste for revenge," Sean assumed. "He's gonna target everyone who's wronged him. He's been doing that from the start—the company Google, for stealing their work and putting a hit on him and Ryan. The Purgs, for actually trying to kill him. The Moores, for trying to have him euthanized the night he went comatose."

"He doesn't have anymore enemies," Marvin protested. "He can't just massacre an entire corporation! The doctors I understand, but that's not many, is it?"

"There were five of us in that room," Dr. Schneeplestein said somberly. "Two are dead. It leaves me, Dr. Iplier, and Dr. Rao."

"And he _can_ massacre a corporation," Sean countered. "With powers like that, he could possess anyone in the higher up and do whatever he wants with the companies decisions. Maybe bankrupt them. Cause a scandal. Have the CEO kill his board."

"Sounds like a long-term goal," Bing yawned. "I'd put that on a to-do later list."

"The Purgs are a good target for him," Schneeplestein decided. "As a test to see if he can handle killing an entire gang with ease. I bet if he succeeds, he'd feel confident enough to attack Google."

Chase shivered. All this talk of murder was making him a little queasy, especially because of how at ease everyone seemed to be with the topic. Maybe it was because he was so new to their life, so uninvolved. He spoke up. "We know his plan—what's _our_ plan?"

"Kill him before he kills others," Google suggested. Jameson's jaw popped open. "It was a suggestion."

 _"Sickening!"_ Jameson said. _"Whatever this boils down to, we will not be taking a life! No matter how much harm he's caused us all."_

"We need to find Sam, first and foremost," Sean said firmly. "Without Sam, he's nothing."

"We need to protect the rest of the doctors, too," Schneeplestein announced. "While Dr. Iplier was not involved in the discussion, he was still—momentarily—present. And Dr. Rao is a viable target. We can't take risks again."

"And the Purgs?" Bing asked. "Do we leave them to fend for themselves, or do we have to stop Anti from getting them?"

The room went quiet. It was a tough decision to make, in Chase's eyes. Obviously, gangs are never good. They _did_ kill a lot of people. But Chase knew it would be equally cruel to let Anti have his way with them. "We can't just let them die."

"Totally agree," Schneeplestein said. "But if they try anything against us, leave the bastards."

"I like where this is going," Marvin said, rubbing his hands. "I'll help Sean—Jack, whatever—look for Sam." He puffed his chest. "I'm a pretty good tracker, y'know."

"I'll keep an eye on the doctors," Schneeplestein said. "Not a difficult task at all, seeing as I share shifts with them. Would anyone like to assist me?"

Google stood up. "If you'll have me, that is. I know a fair bit about medicine, too."

"Did you—Ryan—major?"

"No," Google said. "I'm a computer—I've got a stupid amount of knowledge on everything."

"I can make peace offerings with the Purgs," Bing said. "I was one, after all."

"No fucking way," Sean said.

"Yeah, it was a joke," Bing said, smirking. "But I've got charisma. And...connections. Sorta."

 _"I'll make sure he doesn't say something foolish,"_ Jameson promised.

"That leaves...you, Chase," Sean said. He glanced at him, worried. "Look, I know you probably want to help us, but..."

"Yeah, I understand," Chase said, waving his hand. "I'm a public figure—I can't exactly meddle around with suspicious criminals or vigilantes. I can just stay here with Schneeplestein and Google."

"Oh, call me Googleplier," Google said.

"But—but," Bing stuttered. "You just stole the end of my name! I'm Bingiplier!"

"Well, I like the ring to it," Googleplier said, frowning.

"Anyway." Sean cleared his throat. "Uh, I'm glad you all stuck around. I-I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you all supporting me."

"Ooh, sappy," Chase joked.

"Yeah," Sean said, grinning.

"Oh, I think you're forgetting something, Sean," Schneeplestein said.

"What?"

"You're still in the hospital, recovering."

Sean opened his mouth to protest, but Schneeplestein opened a dresser and grabbed a bundle of clothes. He threw them at Sean's face.

"You've been here long enough," the German said. "I'll pull some strings and get you released early."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, this was so satisfying to finish. I finally got to write everyone's stories together, where one team meets the other team and everyone's finally on the same page, so to speak. Plus, revealing all of that plan stuff? I have been waiting this whole book to do so. I hope the set up was worth it :)
> 
> Thank you for sticking to the story, readers! And for being so patient! Please let me know if there is anything you are wondering about, because I most certainly have missed some explanations for plot!


	51. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone here is searching for _something_.

Before the makeshift team split off to do their own thing, they exchanged numbers. Of course, Jameson had signaled to Jack and pointed to Bing, who was eyeing down a pigeon by the window.

"You're in good hands," Googleplier promised him, though he had a look of slight concern on his face. Bing could be unpredictable at times.

"Awesome," Jack said. He had already changed into the clothes Chase had brought him: a pink shirt and jeans. Apparently Chase couldn't find where Sean kept his shoes, so he was stuck barefoot for the time being. As he tucked his burner phone into his pocket, he studied everyone's faces. They were full of determination and confidence, something he'd never noticed before. Their morale seemed to be high, but Jack couldn't help but think of Sam. Knowing that Anti had the poor eye in his clutches was unsettling, considering what Anti would have planned for them. Still, Jack shrugged it off for the time being and gave a big smile. "Let's do this...team."

"Ooh, I felt chills," Bing said happily, rubbing his sleeves. As he and Jameson neared the doors, Google and Chase met them. In the corner of Jack's eye, he saw Bing and Google nod at each other. Then Bing and Jameson left.

"We should find Rao and Iplier soon," Dr. Schneeplestein urged.

"Agreed," Google said, turning back to face the rest of the group with steely eyes. "I need to speak with Sean first, if you don't mind."

Dr. Schneeplestein raised his eyebrow quizzically, but nodded. "We'll be headed to the third floor."

Marvin slipped out of the room with them, leaving the two of them alone.

The second the door closed, Google swallowed hard. "You better be careful, Jack. We finally may have the edge on Anti, but he's beaten you at every turn. Stay on high alert and don't ever let your guard down for a second. That's all he needs."

Jack dipped his head. "I know," he said quietly. "And if he gets those powers from Sam again, I know I won't be able to beat him. Not now."

"Then you don't tackle him by yourself," Google suggested. "You've got me and Bing. If you call us fast enough we could—"

"Maybe," Jack said, unsure. He sized Google up for a moment, thinking. "It might work." Then, as an afterthought, "What with Anti's bond with you."

Google's face went blank. He said nothing.

"You've noticed it, too," Jack said, frowning.

"Of course I have," Google said bitterly. "How could I not? Anti isn't completely Anti. He's part Matt Watson, is he not? Just his best parts turned worst?" He glanced at the hospital bed, the sheets crisply folded. "Matt and I were close. In a way, it'd make sense for that to transfer—a friendship turned unhealthy. He wanted Google for ideas, but he wanted me for reassurance. That his friend was still alive. That he had something from before things changed."

They stood together in silence, soaking it all up. Google's face was tight, unbeknownst to himself, Jack thought. No doubt conflicted on how he should feel about everything.

"If you want to tell me that I should also watch out, don't worry," Google said, patting Jack on the shoulder. "And I know what you want to add—why do you think I didn't go with you and Marvin?"

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't think Schneeplestein's in trouble. He's the only one who tried to keep Anti alive, and he knows it. Even a maniac would spare him."

Google made an "I don't know" noise. "Pray that you're right. If not, I'll protect them if Anti decides to show up. You just focus on finding Sam."

"Right," Jack said. He held out his hand. "Have fun."

Google shook it. "And good luck."

~***~

Marvin smirked at Jack once he entered the hallway. "That wasn't suspicious at all."

"It really wasn't," Jack agreed.

"Mhm. So where to, first, hero?" Marvin asked. "Anti could be anywhere in the city."

"First, we gotta make a quick stop to my apartment, because there's no way I'm gonna move in jeans." Jack pulled out his burner phone and clutched it tight. "And then I gotta make a call, meet up with some people."

"Quite the networker, huh?" Marvin joked.

"Yeah, you could say that," Jack said sheepishly. He flipped it open, praying the Jim Twins were free.

~***~

Jameson didn't realize this at first, but Bing _could not hear him_.

Not in his head, at least. Once they left the hospital, Bing finally turned to acknowledge Jameson and raised an eyebrow. "So you're following me?"

Jameson nodded.

"Cool. What was your name again?" Bing asked.

He bowed. _"The name's Jameson Jackson, at your service."_

There was a brief pause where Jameson wondered if bowing was too formal for a man like Bing. But then, to his horror, Bing laughed. "Y'know, the bow's nice, but you didn't actually say anything. Are...you okay?"

Oh, dear, Jameson thought. He frowned. Why hadn't he realized this sooner? Did Bing ever reply to him in the hospital? Jameson was sure he had been talking in everyone's heads, but perhaps Bing never caught on to that, either? Ah, but of course, it would only make sense that Jameson's newfound telepathy would work on humans! Which would explain how Googleplier, due to Ryan Magee, could hear him, but not an android like Bingiplier.

Quickly, Jameson pointed to his mouth and shook his head, praying that he would get it. Fortunately, Bing did, for his mouth opened into a smile.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, dude," Bing said. He held up his hands and started to sign to Jameson, but Jameson held out his hands and shook his head again.

"You—what's wrong?" Bing asked. "Do you know ASL?"

A shake of the head. Dear lord, this wasn't going to go well at all. Maybe Jameson should turn back into the hospital and trade with another fellow—perhaps Googleplier could take his place? After all, he knew the skater better than many of them, and well, it couldn't be Chase who accompanied Bing into a situation like this.

Jameson turned on his heel.

"Whoa, pal! Where you going?" Bing said. "Aren't you tagging along?"

Jameson smiled at him awkwardly. 

"A little language barrier isn't gonna hurt," Bing said. "Plus, I need a charming guy like yourself." He chuckled, gesturing towards himself. "I mean, I've heard some interesting names thrown at me, like a word that starts with 'd' and ends with 'ick'." Seeing Jameson's soft huff of laughter, Bing's posture straightened. "C'mon, amigo. We've got no time to waste!"

Jameson looked back at the hospital doors, then to Bing, contemplating. He sighed. He wasn't a trained doctor, anyway. It's not like he could be much help with Dr. Schneeplestein and the rest of them.

A little language barrier couldn't hurt, he supposed, striding over to Bing.

"Cool beans!" Bing said. He waved him over to his side. "Now, we can take a detour if we want—highly doubt Anti's gonna want to kill a bunch of Purgs in the afternoon. Doesn't sound tasteful for a demon fuck like him. Since we have some time to—heh—kill, let's go to my apartment. I'm sure I've got a notepad somewhere..."

~***~

"I can't believe you're going to these shotty reporters," Marvin said. Currently, Marvin and Jack were walking past quiet neighborhood homes and unclean schools, a clear indicator that they were reaching the outskirts of the city. The nice skyscrapers and well funded schools were all towards the center of the city, where the streets were always bustling with activity, and apartment complexes scattered the land. It was nearly one in the afternoon, and the harsh sun was still pounding against their slouched backs as they trudged on.

Jack pursed his cracked lips. "They're just...new to the scene."

"They've been around for like, three years."

"Well, shut up," Jack said jokingly. "Experience is experience, no matter how little. We just need them to help track Anti, nothing more."

"And if they don't know where to find them?" Marvin crossed his arms. "There wasn't anything—or anyone—at the old house. What if he moved to a house that doesn't connect to him?"

"I highly doubt that," Jack said, brushing it off. "He's smart, but he's not humble. A kill-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of guy. He won't relocate into a stranger's home. At least, that's what I'm hoping for."

"Uh huh." 

They stopped in front of the park. If Jack wasn't there for a nice picnic on a stress-free day, he might have enjoyed the view. The ocean at the edge of the park was glittering with each ripple of water. Trees swayed side to side, the wind providing some comfort against the heat. Only a few people occupied the park—a family flying a kite, a man reading a book, a college student sitting under a tree...not to mention the countless ducks quacking near the water's edge. Marvin bent down to read the park's sign.

"'Bill S. Youn Park'," Marvin read aloud. He snickered. "Ah, and there's a little Sharpie next to the sign. 'Screw you Billy.'"

Jack snorted. "Why would someone hate Billy—Bill?"

"Probably because the text below reads 'no dogs allowed'?" Marvin said. "I'm more of a cat person myself, but everyone's a dog lover these days."

"We're wasting time," Jack said, shaking his head. He scanned the area. "The Jim Twins should be where—oh, I see them."

Marvin slipped his cat mask off and handed it to Jack. "Might be smart to hide your identity from these two."

"Probably," Jack said, sliding it down to his face. It reeked of glue and hair products. How did Marvin manage to wear this all the time? The man was smirking at him as if he knew exactly what Jack was thinking.

Nevertheless, Jack kept the mask on and approached the reporters. They were in the parking lot, just like their last meeting here, leaning against the side of their white news van. The satellite dish on the top of the car was nearly snapped in half and leaning precariously to the side, as if a gentle wind could topple it.

Reporter Jim approached them with a wave, Cameraman Jim following behind. Jack couldn't tell the difference between the two Jims from more than ten feet away, but Reporter Jim was always the chipper, extroverted twin, while Cameraman Jim was more self-restrained. "Jack! Great to be seeing your face again! What's with the stupid cat mask?"

Jack put a hand out to stop Marvin from pouncing on the man. "It's a backup."

"Where's the blue mask?"

"That's a long story."

"Nice mask," Cameraman Jim said, catching up to the trio. "So, you talked about you needing our help? With Antisepticeye?"

"Yes," Jack said seriously. "Now, I know I told you guys not to get involved—"

"Hah, it's okay," Reporter Jim said. "We were following leads loooong before you called us an hour ago."

_"What?"_

"Oh, I like these guys," Marvin said, grinning. "Did you find Anti?"

"Not exactly," Cameraman Jim said, running back to his van. The rest of the men followed him to it, eager for some news. The Jim pulled out a bulky laptop and opened it up, typing quickly (with two fingers, Jack noticed). "We've been looking at missing files pertaining to Antisepticeye—or Matt Watson. Did you know his name was Matt Watson?"

"A little too late, yeah," Jack said.

Reporter Jim raised an eyebrow, yet said nothing. Cameraman Jim continued. "Besides the Morrison's house, we found another missing file. It took us a while to recover it, but some parts of it are untraceable. Still, it's about a man named...Leon Solomon?"

Jack recognized that name. His eyes widened, and he thought about the night he visited The Blues and met the leader of the Purgatory gang—a man named Leon. "I know that name—but last I saw him, he was running away from The Blues. Anti must've killed him that night."

"That was easy," Marvin said. "Where's the address?"

The Jim clicked something on his computer and grabbed a piece of paper. He clicked his pen and hastily scribbled the address down for the men. "Here. What're you gonna do when you find Anti?"

"Stop him," Jack said simply.

"But—"

Reporter Jim hushed his brother. "Ah, ah, ah. Have a little faith in good ol' Jackaboy. Ooh, that's got a nice ring to it."

Jack took the paper from Cameraman Jim and nodded. "Thank you so much."

"Thank us later over an interview," Reporter Jim said. "We'll be happy to have you over at our house."

"For dinner or for the interview?" Jack questioned.

Reporter Jim winked. "You decide."

Marvin's grin grew wider.

"Okay..." Jack said, unsure of how to take that answer. "We'll be on our way."

"Yeah, no problem," Cameraman Jim said. "Call us for anything else. We'd be more than happy to assist you."

The two reporters got back into their van, but they didn't drive off. When Jack glanced back, he saw Cameraman Jim pulling out a sandwich and Mountain Dew.

"You in an interview would be interesting," Marvin remarked as he punched the address into his phone.

"No."

"I could even do your hair and makeup."

"No."

"Camera shy?"

"Kind of," Jack said, remembering the last time Chase invited him over for a Bro Average video. He shuddered.

"Got it!" Marvin said, shoving his phone in Jack's face. "It's a quick walk from here, too!"

"We're not walking," Jack said, giving the phone back to Marvin. He started to break into a run. "Keep up! If we find Sam before, we can still stop Anti!"

~***~

By the time Jameson and Bing got back to his apartment, they were too tired to do anything.

The walk had been monstrous. Jameson's clothes were not made for the rare sunny days in Capo City—his black vest was soaked with his sweat, and his clumpy hair was sizzling. Maybe even hot enough to fry an egg. Bing fared better than him, what with his tank top and orange sunglasses, though his baggy jeans and skater shoes were described to Jameson as "Satan-possessed". He didn't think androids could get hot.

Alas, they took shelter in his apartment room. Bing turned up every oscillating fan he had and propped them in front of the couches. Jameson unbuttoned his vest and was told he could hang it with Bing's sunglasses rack. When Bing tossed himself onto the sofa, he handed Jameson a notepad and a red pen.

"Oh, god," Bing said, aggressively fanning himself. He checked the fans again, as if they weren't on full blast already. "You know—let's _not_ go looking for those stupid Purgs right now." Yet, Jameson couldn't help but notice how Bing didn't have a drop of sweat on him. 

Jameson frowned, then started writing. He showed it to Bing: I didn't know robots didn't get hot.

"Tch, oh yeah," Bing said, almost at a loss for words. "I mean...you know. You haven't met a lot of robot people, have you?" 

Jameson stared at him knowingly.

"Yeah, that wasn't a good lie," Bing confessed. "But what gives, Mister...Dapper Man? Why would you wanna go skirting around town, looking for Purgs? Especially with Anti on the loose? Lord knows you don't go looking for trouble in Capo City..."

 _You're scared of Anti too,_ Jameson wrote.

"What? I'm not scared of that douchebag," Bing defended. "I-And what do you mean 'too'? You've never—" His eyes widened instantly. He turned away. "Right. You were that dude we saved back at his old hideout. God, you were hurt really badly."

Jameson inhaled sharply.

"Right! Sorry," Bing said, slapping a hand to his face. "I get that. I shouldn't have brought it up so...carelessly. We don't have to talk about this."

Jameson couldn't agree more. It was true—the mere thought of Anti, the things he did to Jameson...they gave him nightmares. It was unspeakable. He didn't ever plan on confiding in Marvin—the pain he could place on his own friend, and for nothing. Marvin couldn't help him. But perhaps...Bing had incurred the demon's wrath once. Wouldn't he feel the same way Jameson was? He hoped so.

Jameson pursed his lips and started writing again. He showed it to Bing sheepishly.

Bing froze for a moment. His body didn't seem to know what it wanted to do in that moment. Before Jameson had time to consider whether Bing was going to deflect it, he shrugged. "It wasn't my best moment. When Google broke into my house, I was a little shaken up. I mean, he didn't look like—like a killer. I guess back then I knew I saw a bit of myself in him? Dunno. He thrashed me around a bit, and then I started to become aware of how scared I was. He seemed like he was going to kill me...and then Anti..." Bing sniffled, though Jameson couldn't decipher if it was from trauma or the dust blowing at them from the fans. "His face was scary, dude. There was no remorse, no sane feature. I had never felt so terrified and small until he tore into my head like it was wrapping paper. You understand, right?" 

_Absolutely,_ Jameson wanted to say. And he almost burst into tears, then, because he _couldn't_ say that. With what tongue? His voice was gone. Lost forever, and without much talk about it. It was what made him such a wonderful person—he had used his voice to help others feel warm. Without it, he was not the Jameson Jackson he saw himself as. When Anti stole it from his mouth, it hurt like _hell_ , but not because the blood was spilling out of his mouth like a waterfall. Anti had reached far inside of Jameson, and he had ripped a part of his soul out, too.

 _I feel the same way_ , Jameson wrote. _Everytime I think about the basement_

His hand froze. His next letter was pooling in red ink. Gently, Bing plucked the pen from his hands and set it down. Jameson hadn't realized how panicked he was feeling—his whole body was trembling, his heart racing. Stop thinking about the basement. Not the basement. Not the basement. Jameson couldn't go back, he can't go back, not ever, not ever, please—

"You've had it way worse than me, I can't deny that," Bing said awkwardly. Jameson head jerked up from the sudden disconnect from his thoughts. Focus on Bing. Focus on Bing, he urged himself. "And to say that I got over it is a lie. Bruh, I'm a freaking _machine_ and I can't help but think about what he'll do if he sees me again." He took a breath. "But you know, Google's been chilling here in my apartment ever since he broke away from Anti's programming, so we've had a lot of time to talk about things. And while he didn't fully understand how I felt, I think it was pretty damn helpful to confide in what may have been my first friend." Bing bit his lip, as if he was unsure of the word "friend". Jameson didn't pry, but he nodded.

Perhaps their mission to find the Purgs was not completely in vain. Perhaps Jameson and Bing's search had turned up results. Results neither of them had thought they needed until now.

~***~

"This isn't a house," Jack said slowly, his head tilted back in slight shock.

"Well, he was the leader of a successful gang. He's rich enough to consider this his casa," Marvin said, tugging at the metal gates before them. Just out of view was a mansion made of exquisite marble and walls of glass. It looked quite modern, too, with geometric squares serving as rooms. The ones with glass walls didn't seem to house anything suspicious, but looks could fool just about anyone. Marvin shifted his gaze to the bottom of the house. There were lots of tall plants in rather antique-like pots around every door, and a rock garden out in the front yard. "The gate's locked. Not sure why I thought it wouldn't be, but I guess I have enough hope in "

"Do you wanna hop it or break it?" Jack asked him.

Marvin smiled. "Break."

Jack stepped forward and grabbed the two gates. He adjusted his grip on the poles before squeezing hard—hard enough to make the metal squeak as it molded his hands into it. Jack tugged his hands apart and the gates groaned as they shuddered apart, leaving a wide enough space for a car to get through.

"Overkill, but I like it," Marvin commented.

Jack took the first steps in. As they carried on inside, Marvin didn't like how there wasn't any resistance coming their way.

"I guess this proves Solomon's not the one occupying it anymore," Jack said in a low voice. "Stay on guard. Anti could be waiting for us."

It was then that Marvin realized how unprepared he was. Jack had more than enough strength to take care of himself. Marvin was armed with a plastic comb in his back pocket, some smoke-bombs, and a box of matches. Great, that'll help in a fight. He didn't want to bring it up with Jack (the poor guy didn't need extra stress) so he nervously stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed behind Jack, scanning the area.

They reached the door. Jack looked back at Marvin for confirmation and turned back around. Raising his foot, he gave one fast kick at the door, and it crumpled inwards, revealing the living room.

Jack hurried inside, Marvin fanning to his side. In an instant, he felt deja vu—this felt all too similar from when he rushed into save Jameson at the old house. Anger boiled inside him, and for a second, he prayed that Anti would be there. God, he was counting on it.

But he was not in the home. In the middle of the room stood a machine resembling a double helix, like a DNA strand. There were wires and cords falling from it like braided hair, and in the center of it was a tank. And inside that tank—

Jack rushed forward and threw himself down to eye level. His hands were almost shaky as he grabbed the top of the tank and twisted it open. With a soft hiss, it revealed a small object at the bottom of it that Marvin couldn't see from the door. He moved to Jack's side and peered at it with slight horror.

"That's..."

Marvin didn't finish his thought. He knew what it was. Who it was. The green eyeball was so small, about the size of a golf ball. It looked like it once had a tail, but not it was reduced to a little stub. Jack muttered something quietly and scooped Sam out of the tank, cradling them.

"Sam, it's fine, it's fine," he assured him. "You're all right now, we're gonna make this right..."

"Jack, you know what this means," Marvin warned. He looked around at the machine and held up a few wires, frowning at it. He didn't want to say it aloud, but Jack hadn't put two together yet. "The machine's been used. Which means Anti's...Anti got what he wanted."

"No," Jack said softly. "NO. He didn't." He turned around to face Marvin, his eyes misty. "We—we've still got a chance—we can make it right—"

Marvin gasped and started to pull out his phone, dialing the number as quickly as possible.

"What are you doing?" Jack said, still too focused on Sam to concentrate on what was important properly.

"Calling Dr. Schneeplestein," Marvin said urgently. "Anti's on the loose, he's got everything he needs to exact his revenge. He's gonna be headed for the hospital. We gotta warn them before it's too late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this two month long wait, but damn, I needed this chapter to be exactly what I wanted. And I took a lot of time to really think about how I wanted this story to end. Is it a surprise that I wrote all this without an exact way to finish it?
> 
> Anyway, this is the start of the rest of the book. You could consider this the last 200 pages of a book where the problem hasn't yet been solved.
> 
> Thanks for being so wonderfully patient. And thank you for all the kudos while I've been writing quietly :) Hope you enjoyed this one


	52. Rise Up

They didn't realize how hard it was going to be to act inconspicuous.

Schneeplestein had the easiest time, since he had an actual reason to be at the hospital _and_ be in close proximity to Dr. Rao and Dr. Iplier. Googleplier was a little more difficult. He didn't exactly blend in, so Schneeplestein gave him a little name tag and wrote "Intern" on it and hoped for the best.

"Is this going to work?" Google asked him uncertainly.

"I pray so." Schneeplestein patted the tag onto Google's shirt. "We will be keeping an eye on Dr. Rao." He eyed Chase, who was sitting in his office chair. "You will be near Dr. Iplier."

Chase visibly deflated. "Somehow I knew I was going to be the lone one."

"I have less doubt that Anti will target Dr. Iplier first," Schneeplestein explained. He looked away as if being plagued by a painful thought. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I don't want you to get in Anti's crossfire."

"Yeah, I get it," Chase said halfheartedly, but he knew Schneeplestein was right. While Chase wanted to support Jack in any way he could, he didn't know if he was cut out to be in the nitty gritty action. He wasn't anything special. Unlike everyone else, he didn't have a bone to pick with Anti (or any special powers). He was only there because he was friends with Jack. And Chase found the realization painful.

"I'll get you a coat," Schneeplestein told Google. "Feel free to meet me upstairs."

"Yes, I will," Google said nonchalantly, peeling his name tag off and readjusting it. He waited until Schneeplestein disappeared behind a set of doors before he turned to Chase sympathetically. At least, that's what Chase thought his expression looked like. Truth be told, it was quite human, yet had a tinge of foreignness to it. "You must understand where Schneeplestein is coming from. Of his four colleagues, two have been killed by Anti. I'd imagine he feels it was his fault for letting his friends get hurt."

"Right," Chase said, dropping his head. "And definitely not because I'm completely...average." Surely he was growing into his channel name today.

"That's not true," Google said, then bit his lip when he saw Chase's eyes flick to him irritably. "Perhaps a little average. But there's nothing wrong with that." He smiled wistfully. "What I wouldn't give to be a normal person. A normal human."

"I'm...so sorry," Chase said awkwardly. A wave of uneasiness washed over him, and he shifted his weight. "I shouldn't be so ungrateful."

"No, that's fine," Google said. "It's a human emotion, isn't it?" he said a little wistfully.

"Yeah," Chase said. After a brief pause, he asked, "So...what's going on with you? Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Google admitted. "Every second, Ryan and I get closer to 'merging' together, into one mind. We're still two separate people— _if_ I even am a person—but once we're one being...I don't know. I'm usually the one in control." His jaw tightened. "I don't want to lose myself."

"You won't," Chase said quietly.

"Come again?" Google asked.

"You won't lose yourself," Chase repeated, this time with more confidence. "Frankly, I didn't know you until today, but from what Jack told me, I think you'll be fine. Great, even. I-I mean, you broke free of Anti's programming, right?" He hesitated, nervous on if he was being too annoying or cheesy. He continued slowly. "You are more _you_ than you realize."

Google paused, then said, "You're a very odd guy."

"I—yeah, I am," Chase admitted nervously.

"Thank you for the words of encouragement." Google smiled, though it looked forced. Chase could understand. He couldn't imagine how long it took to train himself to fake a smile well, especially as a YouTuber. "I should be leaving. If you see Antisepticeye, notify us at once."

"I'm odd, not an idiot, remember?" Chase said, tapping his temple. "Good luck, bro."

Google said a goodbye and left to meet Dr. Schneeplestein. Chase stood in the middle of the hallway for a few minutes, unsure of himself, before proceeding in the opposite direction to find Dr. Iplier.

Chase found him a few minutes later out of pure luck. Just when he was beginning to realize Dr. Schneeplestein had never told him what Dr. Iplier looked like, a man in a white doctor's coat  
(and a stupid head mirror) had tried to squeeze past Chase in the hallway. The man's name tag had caught Chase's eye, and without many options and little time to think, leaned forward and bumped shoulders with the doctor.

"Oh!" Chase said, cupping a hand partially over his mouth. He reached out to steady the man. "Sorry, I didn't see you there." He peered at the name tag and feigned surprise. "Oh, Dr. Iplier!"

"That's me," Dr. Iplier said. "Though it's pronounced more like EE-plee-air."

"Got it," Chase said. There was an air of uncomfortable silence between them. Dr. Iplier made to move past Chase, but he stopped him with his hand. "Um, you're just the man I was looking for!"

"I...am?" Dr. Iplier said, stunned. "But...you don't seem to be dying. People only come to me when they're dying." He widened his eyes, then leaned in to whisper, "Unless you mean...you are thinking about dying?"

"Suicide?" Chase spluttered. "Why would—" He closed his mouth, trying to collect himself. In order to keep an eye on Dr. Iplier, he had to keep his attention, and if that meant distracting him by talking about sad shit, then so be it. Chase could come up with plenty of conversation just by talking about his life. "Yes, actually."

"I see," Dr. Iplier said, nodding sympathetically. "Would you like to step into my office? It's a safe space—I also have a license for therapy."

"Yes, thank you," Chase said, and he let Dr. Iplier lead him to his office.

~***~

Dr. Schneeplestein and Googleplier had an easier time with Dr. Rao.

Dr. Rao was easily convinced that Schneeplestein had taken Googleplier as a short-term intern. He didn't even ask much questions, like why Googleplier's name contained part of a popular tech company. Schneeplestein supposed it had to do with his status as the head of the hospital—not many people in the place surpassed his position or were nearly as respected.

"I will be having Googleplier accompany you around the workplace today," Schneeplestein told Dr. Rao. "I thought it'd be fitting that one of our best doctors take our newest intern around."

Dr. Rao couldn't help but beam proudly, although a little shyly. "Gee, you'd think I was getting promoted or something with the way you're talking."

"Well, I'll be following you around as well," Dr. Schneeplestein said. "So we will see."

Dr. Rao straightened his posture and checked his watch. "Well, I've got a surgery in ten minutes. You both can wait in the observation deck, if that's okay."

As Dr. Schneeplestein nodded, Googleplier tilted his head. "What's the surgery?"

"Er, enucleation," Dr. Rao answered. "The patient has been suffering from eye pain due to some trauma, so they decided to get both removed."

"Ah, so they were blind already," Googleplier said. "Will they be getting a prosthetic?"

"I'm not sure," Dr. Rao said. He tapped his clipboard eagerly. "Anyway, please follow me!"

Googleplier followed him towards the elevator, but a sudden buzzing in Schneeplestein's pocket caused the doctor to frown. He picked up his phone and answered it. "Marvin?"

"Schneeplestein!" Marvin's voice shouted. He seemed out of breath, so Schneeplestein guessed he was in a dead sprint. "We found Sam! Anti's used the machine and he's probably on his way to the hospital! You gotta move!"

Dr. Schneeplestein's blood ran cold. He snapped his fingers—Googleplier took one glance at his expression and knew everything.

"No time to run out," Googleplier said in a low tone. "We need to hide in the hospital until everybody gets here."

"Call Mr. Jackson and Bingiplier," Schneeplestein ordered Marvin.

"Sure! We're coming as fast as we can! Don't fucking di—" Marvin hung up before he finished his sentence, leaving Schneeplestein in a shell-shocked state. He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts. Anti was coming. He was coming for the doctors. "Rao, you need to hide. Now. I can't explain, but it's a matter of life and death."

"What?" Dr. Rao spluttered. "Schneeplestein—"

Where to hide? Where to hide? If Anti corrupted technology, he could shut down the whole hospital like he did the last time, killing patients—

"Google! Take him to the basement! There's a room next to the morgue that leads into a supply closet!" Schneeplestein barked. "If the elevator shuts down, there's a staircase that you can access with Dr. Rao's key!"

"Where are you going?" Googleplier demanded.

"I need to evacuate the hospital!" Schneeplestein said. He ran to the nearest fire alarm and pulled the switch down. Instantly, the fire alarm blared over the speakers and red lights flashed like lightning. "There's too many patients at risk—too much targets for Anti."

"He's not just going after Iplier and Rao, you know! You're a target, too!" Google said. "Switch with me, I've got a better chance—"

"Patients aren't going to listen to you!" Schneeplestein snapped. "Call Brody, tell him about the spot. Meet down there and do not move."

"Schneep—what the hell are you thinking?" Dr. Rao exclaimed. Googleplier grabbed his arm and started running for the staircase. "I—wait just a minute—"

With a sharp crack in the air, Google and Dr. Rao vanished. Google's technopathy, Dr. Schneeplestein realized.

He buttoned his lab coat and broke into a run down the hall. If Chase and Dr. Iplier could make it down to the basement in time, then Anti wouldn't be able to find them for a long time, giving Jack and the rest of the group enough time to get to the hospital—

And then what? What were they going to do then? Fight Anti? Only Jack and Bing could fight the demon—he was just putting more innocent people in danger. Oh, no. That wasn't smart, that wasn't smart, Schneeplestein—

"Hello, doctor."

Dr. Schneeplestein, as if by an invisible force, stopped dead in his tracks, near the reception desk of the second floor. His hands stood at his sides, so when he turned around, he could at least convince himself they weren't shaking.

The demon he had heard so much about was finally here. Standing twenty feet away. Against the red lights, his eyes were a burning green like fluorescent liquid. His smile was crooked, and his features cruel. The scarred neck was stained with blood.

"Antisepticeye," Dr. Schneeplestein said, stepping back. Anti took a step forward to counter him.

"It's been such a long time," Anti drawled. "Since I've heard your voice. Do you remember me?"

 _Distract him,_ Schneeplestein thought. _Jack just needs time to arrive._

"I do," Schneeplestein said slowly. Another step back—another step forward by Anti. Schneeplestein's heart pounded in his ears, louder than the fire alarm. "Your name is Matt Watson."

"MATT IS A DEAD MAN'S NAME!" Anti roared.

"Your name _was_ Matt Watson," Schneeplestein corrected. "You came in because of serious stab wounds and...the scar around your neck." He breathed out in horror. "Has it never healed? All this time?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Anti said joyfully, his mood shifting. "But the reason it's there...well, I thought you could tell me. No stitches?"

"I—"

"I don't care," Anti continued. "I'm not even here to play this stupid game with you."

"You're not?"

"I've been feeling generous," Anti said simply. "I owe you one. For not killing me that night. So I won't kill you today."

"How kind," Schneeplestein said dryly, recovering some of his nerves.

"Unless you give me a reason to," Anti said wickedly. "I hear _Dr. Rao_ is in the building."

"He didn't show up for work today," Schneeplestein said. "You're wasting your time."

"Your lying skills are lackluster," Anti hissed. In one stride, he pushed Schneeplestein into the desk and pinned him with one arm. He raised his other hand. Anti's fingernails grew into sharp talons. He wriggled his fingers. "I don't have all day."

"I didn't think so," Schneeplestein said quietly.

Just then, Schneeplestein heard the sound of a window shattering to pieces, not too far from the main hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, Schneeplestein spotted blurred movement, and suddenly—

"HEY, BITCH!" Jack's voice boomed. "Ready for round four?"

Anti released Schneeplestein and whirled around to face Jack. The doctor staggered over to the staircase near the elevator, but he snuck a peek at the scene before him. Jack in Marvin's magician mask, fully clad in red, wearing a hoodie, joggers, and tennis shoes. Anti, fully clad in shades of black, wearing a shirt and ripped jeans.

"What makes you think it's going to be different than the last three?" Anti asked.

"I don't know, really," Jack said. "But I did realize something from those last three ass-kickings. The worst you've done to me was when I was alone."

"Because you're _weak_ ," Anti spat. "You're too weak to face me alone."

"What's so weak about asking for help?" Jack asked him. Schneeplestein could almost agree if he weren't hiding around the corner.

Schneeplestein remembered himself. He didn't have time to be listening to Jack and Anti. He had lives to save. Just before he started down the staircase, he heard Jack's last remarks.

"You want to know what's different this time? Well. Why don't you approach me and find out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, a month of no updates. Life got busy in a really good way, which meant I didn't have much time to work on the chapter, hence why it feels so sloppy. but damn i'm so ready to write the rest of this story!!
> 
> Thanks for keeping your patience with me. I can't promise I will update in the next week or month or millennium. Take care!


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